Irony
by fukuji mihoko
Summary: As the fear of being alone and memories of Beatrice with her head split open on the beach begin to take hold of Rosa, she starts to act in desperation to hold onto some of her happiness. :vague Rosa/Battler, Beato/Battler, v. minor ep7 spoilers:
1. o1

**Irony****  
><strong>Chapter One

* * *

><p>For a few wonderful, magical moments it felt as though she were flying. The wind ran through her hair, sending straight-across bangs fluttering discordantly. Her heavy dress no longer felt like a burden or iron chain. Her dress could no longer shackle her to that never-ending tea party behind iron bars. Instead, the thick material swirled round her legs as though it weighed nothing less than a feather, dancing with her, not against her, as she twisted gracefully through the air.<p>

She was free of that cage, and she was free of his control. He couldn't keep her locked away anymore; she would become a spirit, floating through the forest of Rokkenjima on wings as light as air.

Maybe she _had_ grown wings.

Beautiful golden butterfly wings.

She could fly- just like something from a fairytale. Her heart pounded a tattoo against her chest and her eyes opened wide, sparkling as they'd never done before. Her fingers coiled against the cool air that needled her skin/

Even if it was only for a fleeting moment, she was as free as a cloud, flittering through the air like a golden butterfly. Butterflies might have been beautiful, but trying to catch hold of one was like trying to grasp motes of dust in your fingers- almost impossible.

When you did catch a butterfly, it would wither and die.

Kinzo had been killing her slowly for the past twenty years, draining all the color out of her cheeks until they were hollow, ashen, white. But that girl had taught her otherwise. That girl had told her about the world beyond the forests and the imaginary wolves and the shores of Rokkenjima. That girl had taught her about zoos and the taste of ice-cream on a summer day and splitting watermelons on a beach.

Rosa had opened the door of her cage and set her free.

She was a butterfly.

But butterflies, even those that could flutter freely in the blue, blue sky, didn't have very long life spans.

When did the flying turn into falling?

Maybe it when her head smacked across the jagged rocks. The impact pushed one bright blue eye half-way out of its socket, whilst the back of her split open in a mess of thick, dripping red.

She had only been able to fly (entertaining the illusion of escape) for a few seconds.

Perhaps even less.

But she would have traded her entire life for these split seconds, and more, because she'd never felt so alive.

Kinzo wouldn't be able to trap her anymore; holding her in a tangled web of lies ("there are wolves in the forest") and 'love' that turned her stomach and hurt so much- _why didn't he stop he never stopped but he said he cared…_

She was beyond that now.

Nobody would want to catch a dead butterfly. She would turn to dust and she would disappear; becoming one with the air again.

When she thought about it like that, dying wasn't so bad, either.

Heh…

A small, barely there smile tugged at her lips, as the blood flowed from her head and her brain began to shut down. Her limbs felt numb, she couldn't even move her fingertips, and her beautiful hair (Kumasawa spent so long fussing over it in the mornings- it seemed a bit like wasted effort now) was coated in sticky red.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't fly- not anymore. Her wings had been taken away from her; torn out of her back in a mess of blood and bone and jagged rocks.

But she was still… happy.

For the first time in her life, she was happy.

She died smiling.

* * *

><p>"Beato!" Rosa called, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "Beato, where are you? Beatrice!"<p>

Rosa navigated through the slalom of pointed rocks and jagged cliff face carefully, her fingers trembling in panic as her mind entertained the thought of falling. Her feet would slip, her fingers would spasm, and then her heart would lurch out of her mouth as her body twisted through the air. She would hit the ground like a limp rag doll, her arms and legs twisting at awkward angles whilst her eyes emptied of life and became black pools.

Did that happen to Beatrice?

Was her body lying, impaled, on these rocks, like a broken doll?

Were her eyes dead and empty?

Rosa winced and shook her head, girlish pigtails fluttering in the breeze (Eva always teased her about those pigtails, "you're too old to wear those now"), as she tried to calm her breathing.

It was fine, she tried to tell herself. _It's fine, it's fine, it's fine._

She ran the phrase through her head over and over again like a mantra, until it almost began to lose all meaning. It was a coping mechanism; the same technique she used to soothe her nerves when Eva, with her cruel tongue and narrowed eyes, began tearing into all her hopes and dreams like a lioness feeding on an injured antelope. Her brothers and sister could be so cruel, but Rosa was above that cruelty. Rosa lived in a world of fairytales and princes that would come to rescue her from Rokkenjima.

The princes in Rosa's mind sweep her off her feet, pulled her to their chests, and made promises they would always, _always _keep.

Rosa had been allowed to believe in those childish delusions for a while as she was the youngest- the baby sister. However, when she became a teenager and she still didn't relinquish her dreams of true love, her siblings began to scorn her. By this time Rudolf had already begun to cycle through girls as frequently as he went through clean shirts (he was the worst kind of man; so completely opposite to Rosa's ideals he scared her, just a little), and Krauss was ready to enter an arranged marriage. The idea of an arranged marriage scared Rosa, too. That wasn't 'love', that was… 'business'.

It was _heartless._

Then again, a lot of things scared Rosa.

"You live in a fantasy world and you act like a little kid because you're too cowardly to accept the truth!" Eva had said once, grabbing hold of one of Rosa's pigtails and pushing their faces so close together Rosa could see the molars at the back of Eva's mouth when she spoke. "Grow up, Rosa! You're a successor to the Ushiromiya family, and you should start acting like it!"

Maybe Eva was right- but Rosa didn't want to 'act' like anything.

Rosa didn't want to be cruel and callous, hurting others for her own personal gain. She didn't want to be like Krauss or Rudolf or Eva.

She only wanted to be herself.

A young girl.

That was why she'd try to save Beatrice. Even thought the blonde-haired woman had been a little arrogant, surveying Rosa with initial disdain as though she were a speck of dirt, Beatrice had soon warmed up. Beatrice must have been five or six years older than Rosa- a woman, not her child. Her body had said that much. But when Rosa had looked at Beatrice's face, she'd seen, beyond Beatrice's fragile façade of self-importance and grandeur, they had been quite similar.

Like her, Beatrice had been nothing but a lost, lonely little girl.

A real princess locked up inside a tower.

Beatrice had even looked like a princess, what with her elaborate hair, piercing blue eyes (Rosa had never seen eyes that blue before; they were like the line between the sky and the sea, when the two bodies merged and it was impossible to tell them apart) and that breathtakingly beautiful dress.

The two tower princesses met- but Beatrice had been more of a princess than poor Rosa ever could. Her eyes might have been narrowed in disdain, initially, but even scowling she was the most beautiful person Rosa had ever seen. Rosa might have been fooled into believing Beatrice was an illustration in a novel, or else the product of some strange dream, if the feel of her fingers under hers had not been so warm and real.

Rosa wanted to save this person. Rosa had entertained the thought of being saved from Rokkenjima for years- but now she herself had a chance to help somebody.

Rosa wanted to protect this beautiful fairytale illusion before the real world spoilt her.

The real world had an excellent knack and destroying beautiful things.

So Rosa, with her unfailing optimism and childish ways ("_you need to grow up_") had led the captive princess by her hand, guiding her through a hole in the metal fence towards freedom.

Rosa should have known better.

Beatrice couldn't navigate the sheer cliffs in those skirts; it was ridiculous. An accident waiting to happen. Rosa had been stupid- incredibly stupid. One moment Beatrice had been there, and the next second… she'd gone. Disappeared.

She had screamed, though.

Rosa had heard a scream.

Maybe it was hers.

_Don't be dead don't be dead oh please don't be dead…_

Rosa winced as the rock face cut into her fingers, leaving small lacerations across the skin that oozed blood. She tried to swallow that pain and continue her descent downwards, even though her body was numb and she could hardly move.

She needed to grow up; they were only a few cuts. Hardly fatal. It didn't even hurt.

_Beatrice was fine. Beatrice was fine. Beatrice was-_

But it was a little difficult to keep living in a fairytale when the truth of what you'd done was staring you right in the face.

Except Beatrice couldn't stare anymore.

Her eyes were blank and dead, those sky-sea blue irises drained of color as though somebody had pricked them with a pin and the dye had seeped away. One of her eyes had been pushed half out of her socket, blood running down her pale cheek like tears. The rest of Beatrice's face was, mercifully, untouched- but the back of her head had been carved open like a Halloween pumpkin, leaking bone and brain out onto the grey rocks. The fluid from her split-open skull looked a lot like jelly, Rosa thought wildly. Just like jelly and ice-cream, all mixed together with a spoon.

Rosa gave a small, muffled squeak of horror, her fingers clapping against her mouth- and then, seconds later, against her eyes. She didn't want to look. She couldn't look. If she pretended it never happened, then maybe…

_But that won't change anything and you know it._

_You _killed _her._

_The fairytale princess died because of you._

_Does that make you the evil witch?_

Rosa felt the contents of her stomach mix around, triggering her gag reflex.

Perhaps_ her _insides looked a little bit like Beatrice's; perhaps everybody, regardless of outward appearance, looked exactly the same on the inside. If Rosa smashed open her own skull with a rock (there were plenty lying around) then… would she begin to look like Beatrice? Even though Beatrice was beautiful, she was no illustration of water colors and white paper, because illustrations couldn't bleed.

Fairytales were eternal, but Beatrice was only human.

That didn't change the fact there was blood dripping from Rosa's hands. That didn't change the fact Rosa was a murderer. You couldn't kill fairytale princesses because they never existed- so maybe it would have been nicer to live in a fantasy world where Beatrice was unchanging, untouchable, waiting for a prince to rescue her. But Beatrice was merely a lonely, lost girl like Rosa.

And Rosa had killed her.

Rosa winced, tears beginning to bead in her eyes. Her throat burned. Her body trembled.

Then she turned round and vomited over the ground.

* * *

><p>Battler could only survey the black and white, monochrome scene with horror. He had seen many terrible things during Beatrice's 'game', but Beatrice's split-open skull (shattered like an eggshell) wasn't nearly as terrible as the look of pain and panic on Rosa's face. Battler couldn't help but think, perhaps a little wildly (hysterically, maybe even unfairly) that Beatrice had managed to freeze the scene at the exact moment when Rosa's heart tore in two.<p>

Even though Battler was only an addition to this frozen scene and could not change or interact with anything (it was like looking at an old photograph), he swore he could smell the haphazard scent of salty sea water and rusty blood and Rosa's vomit. It turned his stomach.

Battler couldn't even look at Beatrice's corpse, those impractical skirts fanned out around her twisted legs. But he couldn't look at Rosa, either.

When Rosa was younger, she'd looked quite a bit like Maria. Maybe her personality had been similar, too. Innocent.

But that innocence had gutted out like a candle now.

You couldn't watch somebody die and remain unaffected. Battler had learnt that himself, after watching his family and their servants suffer over and over again in Beatrice's hands.

Rosa looked as though her whole world had shattered from under her feet.

Battler had believed Rosa was 'just his Aunt' for most of his life; treating her as a big bad adult when he was younger, as most children did. Then he left the Ushiromiya family for six years, and during those years he'd never spared Rosa a single thought. He'd thought about George and Jessica, and just a little about Maria, but never once had he thought about Rosa. Maybe… he'd never really seen her as a real person, or a human being.

But this young girl, with the cute pigtails and the look of horror on her face,_ was_ another human being; a human with thoughts and feelings and dreams- and those dreams had just been torn out of her heart and shredded into confetti.

Battler been fighting on behalf of his family, but he'd never really considered their pain before. Maybe he'd even been fighting, just a little, out of spite, or a childish desire to irritate Beatrice.

But no more.

He had to start taking this more seriously.

Battler had never liked to see broken people. Perhaps it was too late to save that younger version of Rosa- her skin was sallow, her eyes haunted, flecks of vomit on her chin and in her hair she hadn't yet managed to wipe away- but he could try and save her older self.

He had to.

Perhaps he was the only one who could.


	2. o2

**Irony****  
><strong>Chapter Two

* * *

><p>Rosa winced, her fingers pressing against her temples. She had a terrible headache. It was a heavy, crushing pain, as though the contents of her head had been scooped out and replaced with rocks.<p>

Maybe she was getting old.

Or maybe she was turning into Natsuhi.

Rosa smiled softly to herself (although it wasn't really all that funny), as she took a sip of her tea. It tasted nicer than usual- perhaps because she'd made it herself, or maybe it was because the thoughts in her head were such a jumble that the simple sensation of tea spreading across her tongue was a comfort. Tea was easy to understand; even an idiot could make it.

Thoughts were…

Well.

They weren't so simple.

When Rosa poked about at the contents of her head too much (all the thoughts and feelings she didn't want to discuss locked safely away in a metaphorical box, but the lid was opening now) it only ever brought pain.

It hurt too much.

It _shouldn't_ have hurt that much.

But it did.

Rosa winced as memories, with teeth sharp as glass and colors vivid as the leaves in fall, swirled about her in a storm. Trying to calm her thoughts (her heartbeat was thudding and her fingers were trembling), Rosa pinched the handle of the teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white. Then, with one swift movement, she pressed the rim of the cup against her lips and drained it.

The tea burnt her throat when it went down.

_Good._

It was easier to focus on physical pain than the emotions warring inside her head; it was easier to hurt on the _outside _than on the in. If you broke your leg all you had to do was go and see the doctor, but when you broke your heart what could you do?

As the uncomfortably hot tea seared Rosa's insides she entertained the image that it was cauterizing the wounds inside her; smoothing out her that pain and confusion until all those bittersweet (but mostly bitter) memories of being a young girl with wide eyes and big ideas vanished into thin air.

The memories didn't disappear, though.

They never had.

Maybe they never would.

Even though she'd locked those memories up inside her, they'd always been there. That little girl with the stupid pigtails ("_you're too old to wear those now_") had always been a part of Rosa's subconscious; clinging onto the hope that, one day, her prince charming would come and rescue her.

One day she would have a happy ending.

Even though she knew she didn't deserve it.

Rosa wasn't a fairytale princess. She never had been. And she wasn't young enough to honestly believe in such delusions anymore.

She wasn't young enough to be _allowed _to believe in such delusions anymore.

The world simply wouldn't let her.

She'd be scorned for trying.

(What was so laughable about hope, though?)

She was getting old, and her hair was beginning to turn grey, and there were wrinkles forming under her eyes. She might have been pretty once, when she still believed in fairytales; when she used to put her hands over her ears and close her eyes and blot out the ugly truth of human nature. However, as youth faded and ran down the drain like droplets of water, so did her high hopes that anybody would ever reach out her hand and rescue her.

Maybe she didn't deserve to be rescued.

Who would take the hand of a girl whose fingers were stained in blood?

When Rosa placed the teacup back down on the table with a dull _thunk _(the sound echoed in the large, empty kitchen; a chorus of one thousand Rosas and one thousand teacups- a taunting reminder of her how lonely she was) her eyes were burning, her throat constricting, and she felt sure she was going to burst into tears.

The other family members were in the drawing room discussing the epitaph under Beatrice's portrait. They'd never given it any serious thought before, deeming the riddle useless; a strange extension of Kinzo's unhealthy interest in the occult and nothing more. However, when the promise of hidden gold spurred them on, they suddenly became motivated. The epitaph didn't look quite so ridiculous anymore.

Gold, gold, gold. Everybody was motivated by wealth.

Selfish desires.

People were so selfish.

Her family had always been like that ever since Rosa was a child- ever since she could remember. They used to bully her incessantly; Krauss and Rudolf and Eva.

Eva was the worst.

Eva used to tug at her pigtails, a smirk splitting across her face like an open wound, as she called Rosa…_ horrible_ names. When Rosa lay down on her stomach in her room to doodle wax crayon pictures of palaces and princesses Eva would always find them and tear them apart. Rosa's dreams were fragile, gossamer, and Eva would tear them apart like candyfloss or spiders' webs.

Rosa didn't want to be with her family anymore. Even twenty or so years later, when Rosa was a woman (not a child) and she'd abandoned her foolish dreams in wake of bitterness and cynicism, she still felt somewhat frightened of Eva and Krauss and Rudolf.

Eva had found a new person to sink her fangs into. Natsuhi had even less status than Rosa, being related to the Ushiromiya family only through marriage. Of course, the same could be said for Kyrie- but Natsuhi was delicate, with constant headaches and a look of pain that never seemed far away from her face. She was easy to tear into.

It was easy to make Natsuhi cry.

Eva had a new victim, and no longer bothered Rosa. Krauss and Rudolf, meanwhile, had matured just a little. They no longer saw Rosa as their silly little sister with big dreams who didn't quite fit in. They didn't tease her anymore. Instead, they tolerated her. Maybe even pitied her, given her situation with Maria…

But Rosa knew they didn't see her as an equal.

That was why they'd let her leave the family meeting. It was because they didn't value her opinions.

…It wasn't like she cared to offer her own opinions that much anyway.

Rosa had always been an outsider, even in her own family. When she was young she would hide from her older siblings, locking herself up in her room and creating fantasy lands inside her head where cruel words and the cruel people who spoke them couldn't reach her. Rosa had build up beautiful lands inside her head; landscapes from daydreams, with white arbors and blood red roses. Golden butterflies would flitter through the summer air like shooting stars.

A golden land.

But Rosa couldn't escape there anymore- not now.

She was much too old.

Rosa was still an outsider in her family, just like before; only this time, she had nowhere to go.

Nowhere but the inside of her own head.

Her skull had never felt more restricting.

With weak fingers that could hardly support the teapot, Rosa poured herself some more tea. However, she was unable to control the stream of liquid properly, and one jerky movement sent droplets of scalding tea running down her hand. The burning heat that spread through her hand was so sudden she nearly dropped the pot.

"O-ouch…"

With a small noise of pain _(pathetic)_ Rosa brought her fingers to her mouth, sucking on them to dull the trail of fire that danced through her flesh.

It didn't really help.

All that talk of Beatrice had brought back memories- _terrible_ memories, which crushed down on Rosa like a landslide. Emotions were filling her mouth, choking her, worming their sickly way through her innards until her stomach turned, the scent of tea was putrid, and she thought she was going to be stick.

The first time she'd ever been sick in her life was when she'd looked upon Beatrice's mangled body. Beatrice had still, strangely enough, been beautiful, even with half her head smashed open.

At least the front of her face hadn't been marred too badly- saved the eye that bulged out of one socket.

Rosa's hands were stained with that blood.

She could still smell it; clinging to her like a second skin.

Beatrice had been a real-life fairytale; a fragile fearie trapped in a golden cage by the evil sorcerer- the same sorcerer whose gold maddened Rosa's family and turned them against each other in hate and anger. Kinzo had ripped Beatrice's wings out of her back, her collarbones still beading ruby-red, and locked her away all for himself.

Rosa had let her free.

And Rosa had killed her.

Perhaps, then, Beatrice hadn't been a fearie; not at all. She'd been a human being, a real person, a-and Rosa had… S-she'd…

Rosa had killed her own dreams of happy endings with her_ own_ fingers.

Every person Rosa touched withered and died- or else they turned against Rosa in disgust and left, before she could infect them, too.

"_I know it's not you, mommy. I-it's just the bad witch inside of you…"_

The burning at the back of Rosa's eyes was even worse than the pain in her fingers.

Rosa's reflection in the teacup stared up at her, shimmering and shifting like a half-formed image in a hazy daydream. Rosa looked terrible and she knew it. Her skin was pale, chalky, like a corpse, and her eyes were empty.

She didn't used to look like that.

Once upon a time she had been a young girl filled with hopes and dreams, but she'd stupidly tried to hold onto too many fantasies in an unforgiving world, and as she grew older they'd all slipped out of her hands. Real life was not a fairytale or a story book, where everything resolved itself after an exciting climax.

In the real world some murderers were never caught, some heroes were not all that heroic, and people who died didn't come back.

Rosa had learnt that when she picked her way across the beach (_don't be dead please don't be dead_) and saw- though her fingers splayed across her eyes (trying to run away from her problems again)- Beatrice's skull impaled by a jagged rock.

There was no room in the real world for happy endings, and there was no prince left to save her. She was too old now; too old to believe in such things.

With intelligence came the loss of innocence.

With the loss of innocence came the loss of happiness.

And without happiness or hope you became bitter.

Rosa had believed in love so strongly. She had thought it could overcome everything. She wanted nothing to do with the Ushiromiya family that spoke only of money- instead, her dream was to have a whirlwind romance that swept her off her feet.

She had that, alright.

But when he swept her off her feet he didn't help her back up again. He abandoned her; left her with a baby growing inside her stomach that could only serve as a reminder for the love she did not have.

When he left the last of Rosa's hopes began to disintegrate into the dust- and, slowly but surely, she became just as cruel and just as twisted as the rest of her family; the people she'd scorned so for their petty ways when she was younger.

Rosa was no better than any of them.

She was only human, after all.

Maria was not born out of love, but out of hate.

How could Rosa love Maria when Maria was a constant reminder of the relationship she no longer had? How could Rosa hold Maria in her arms when Maria, with her wide eyes filled with so much innocence (how _dare_ she be innocent in such a cruel world?) reminded Rosa of another girl whose hopes had been stolen away from her?

It didn't seem fair that Maria should be happy when Rosa couldn't.

Rosa had become selfish, jealousy destroying Maria's happiness (_"no! Don't kill Sakutaro!"_) because she could no longer experience that for herself. Rosa tore Maria's dreams to ribbons because Rosa had no dreams left of her own.

She'd already destroyed them all- and what dreams she hadn't torn apart for herself, life had done for her.

And yet, despite that…

Maria was the only thing Rosa had left.

Maria was the only one who cared.

Rosa loved Maria- and, when that burning, consuming envy wasn't polluting her veins like poison, Rosa would pull Maria close and bury her head in her hair and cry. Maria gave Rosa's life meaning because Maria _needed_ Rosa (she was the only person in the world who did) and Rosa needed Maria.

But Rosa was destroying Maria, just as she'd torn about her stuffed lion- that stupid toy Maria would talk to as though it were a real person (_but that's only because__ you__ never talked to her enough_).

Rosa wasn't a good mother.

She wasn't a good lover.

She wasn't a good daughter.

And she hadn't even been a good friend.

Not to Beatrice.

_You break ev~ery~thing you touch. You're so good at it, it's a special talent! Did you have to work at it, or does it just com naturally? _asked a cruel voice inside Rosa's head. Its words were light-hearted, sing-song, sadistic; it was obviously enjoying this. For whatever reason, it sounded an awful lot like Eva- but not the current Eva. The Eva from Rosa's memories; the Eva in the sailor suit with the hair that fell round her shoulders, with the narrowed eyes and the cruel smile.

(Unbidden, Maria's words crept into Rosa's head, again and again and over and over: '_I know it's not you, mommy. I-it's just the bad witch inside of you…'_)

_You're useless, my little baby sister Rosa~ Kikiki~ Why else do you think he left you? Why do you think everybody leaves you?_

_It's because you're useless!~_

_Pathetic!_

_Why don't you just roll over and die?_

_And the worst thing was, Rosa couldn't think of a single argument to counter those words.__ Why was she still alive? Why?_

It was this point Ushiromiya Rosa buried her face in her hands and began to cry.


	3. o3

**Irony****  
><strong>Chapter Three

* * *

><p>"H-hey, is anybody in here…?"<p>

Rosa's head suddenly jerked up out of her hands, as though an electric current had been run through her body. Trembling, trying to dispel the tears, Rosa blinked, wiping her hands against her face.

She felt just like a little child who'd fallen over in the dirt and couldn't get back up again. Her knees might as well have scabs on them, her legs speckled with mud.

_Helpless._

Then again, Rosa had never really gone out to play when she was a child- even though the extensive woods that surrounded Rokkenjima always put her in mind of fairytales, with enchanted talking animals and faeries that slept in hollow trees. Rosa had never believed in the story about wolves herself, but she knew her mother wouldn't have perpetuated that obvious lie if she didn't have a reason for keeping Rosa out of the forest. Now that Rosa thought about it, her mother had probably told that lie about the wolves because she- like Eva- didn't approve of Rosa acting like the child she really was. Obviously, Ushiromiyas didn't 'play' in the woods and get scratches on their arms or sticks in their hair. That was only for common folk.

Rosa never really_ had_ a childhood at all.

And it had ended far too soon… Though, in reality, her 'childhood' had been ending since the moment she was born, and all those expectations (_you're an Ushiromiya and you better act like it)_ had been piled upon her.

It had been even worse for Krauss, being the eldest. Maybe that was why he'd always seemed so bitter.

These memories only served to make Rosa's eyes sting even more, until trying to suppress her sobs became as futile and fruitless as trying to halt the turn of the earth or the ocean waves.

Somebody was standing there watching her crying, she knew it. T-that was just a little bit pathetic, wasn't it? Maybe tears were alright and allowed when she was a child (even if Eva had always scorned her for them), but now she was an adult (now she was meant to be responsible) and it was far worse…

She didn't have a right to cry.

And that only made her body tremble even more, until she resembled a leaf in the wind.

"A-aunt Rosa? Rosa, are you alright? W-what's wrong?"

At least it wasn't one of the adults, thought Rosa, sniffing helplessly and hiding her face in hands. Surely it was blotchy and red from all her tears; not at all attractive. And Rosa always wanted to look attractive. Even the princesses in fairy stories who extolled the virtues of inner beauty (don't judge a book by its cover) were gorgeous, with blonde hair and blue eyes (just like Beatrice), so preaching morals like 'look within' was really a moot point.

All human beings were superficial and selfish.

She was no exception.

"I-I'm alright," said Rosa (an obvious lie), as she tried to wipe her eyes free of tears. Her mind free of memories. She forced a smile. "I-it was nice of you to ask though, Battler."

Battler stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a look of concern on his face that made Rosa's face flush.

Battler was looking at Rosa in the same way he'd looked at Maria when she'd been wailing about her missing rose. Again, even more forcefully than before, the feeling of childish helplessness smashed past Rosa's defenses, making her wince as though she'd been shot in the stomach. One of her hands went to her middle, as though checking to see whether her intestines were still in place, whilst the other pressed against her head.

W-why did everything have to hurt so much?

"You don't look very alright to me," said Battler. "Do you need any aspirin? It looks like you have a headache."

"I-I'm okay-"

"No you're not."

Rosa watched Battler with an incredulous stare. He'd spoken in such a cutting manner it was a little rude- but Rosa was sure his curt reply had stemmed more from worry than a desire to be cruel.

Battler began to open various drawers and cupboards in an attempt to find the ever-elusive medicine. He hummed softly to himself all the while, keeping a strange rhythm with the sounds of doors opening and closing and the pitter-patter of rain as it beat on the windowpane.

"People usually keep medicine in the kitchen, right?" asked Battler, turning to look at Rosa. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, we do. It's in a high cabinet so Ange can't get to it. She _really_ likes cough syrup. If we let her, she'd down a whole bottle, no problem."

Rosa smiled slightly at this, even despite her pounding headache. It felt like her brain was trying to claw its way out of her skull.

"Maria was the same," said Rosa. "She's grown out of it now, though."

"I hope Ange does," said Battler, returning Rosa's smile. "She's at the stage where she's trying to find as many fun, exciting, interesting ways of hurting herself as possible. Falling down the stairs, putting her wet fingers near electric sockets, trying to cuddle the iron when it's turned on... She's a _menace._" Battler made a face, as though he'd just swallowed a lemon. "And that old bastard thinks it's _funny_."

Rosa nodded in agreement. Somehow, though she didn't know how, talking to Battler was relaxing; perhaps even more relaxing than any medicine would be. Her headache was slipping away before she even realized it.

She...

She _sympathized_ with Battler.

From the way he was talking, he sounded like a put-upon parent. Rosa had always fussed after Maria (Maria's curiosity about everything in life had resulted in a few accidents involving stairs and electric sockets, too- though she'd never actively tried to cuddle the iron while it was switched on), but Rosa's numerous boyfriends had never cared. They didn't want a woman with a daughter. Maria was like a chain to them; a shackle of responsibility they weren't willing to accept, and Rosa simply wasn't worth it.

So they left.

They always left.

Battler acted like the typical teenager; making crude comments about Jessica, playing cards with the other cousins and striking dramatic poses for no apparent reason (well, maybe the last thing on that short little list wasn't quite so typical of all teenagers). However, there was more to Battler than just that, it seemed.

Somehow, without Rosa realizing it, Battler had matured into quite the sensible young gentleman.

Rosa felt herself flush slightly at this thought, without knowing why.

"I didn't realize you had such a strong relationship with Ange," said Rosa lightly, hoping it wasn't a sore subject. Battler had looked so _angry _when he brought up Rudolf- quite different to his usual easy-going self. It was a little disconcerting.

"I guess I didn't think I'd like Ange that much, either. I didn't want a bratty little kid sister," said Battler, still rooting through drawers for anything that could help with headaches. His back was facing Rosa, but Rosa was sure he was smiling. She could tell by the tone of his voice. "But I realized Ange isn't _just_ a bratty kid. She's... she's really special. She means a lot to me. Even if she does annoy me sometimes."

"I know how you feel."

"Yeah~ You have your own kid to look after, don't you? Ihihi~" Battler laughed. "But I guess Maria isn't a kid anymore. She's grown so much bigger since I last saw her! I was all 'this pretty young lady can't be _Maria_, can it?' when I saw her! Ihihi!~"

"I think Maria would be happy to hear you say that," said Rosa, also smiling. "Though... she still hasn't grown out of her... childish habits, I'm afraid."

Like speaking in fragmented sentences, or injecting the nonsensical word 'uu~' into everything, or talking nineteen to the dozen about 'witches' and 'magic' and 'Beatrice' to such a great extent she was bullied at school and she didn't have any real friends save those _stupid_ stuffed toys-

"Hey, it's okay for Maria to act like a child," said Battler. Maybe he'd realized how agitated Rosa was getting because his voice was soothing, gentle. He turned to face Rosa, his eyes finding hers. "Maria's only seven. Don't expect too much from her. I was a real pain in the ass when _I _was seven."

"I-is that so...?"

"I thought I could shoot lasers from my eyes and attacked the neighbor's cat with a pointy stick. Talking about witches is _nothing_ compared to animal cruelty, right? Ihihi~ I think old Oryou next door threatened to lock me up if I kept assaulting her pets."

Rosa looked down at the table top, shame-faced. She suddenly felt so unreasonable... Battler had seen her (all the cousins had seen her) shouting at Maria over her stupid rose... A-and then she'd _hit _her...

She must have looked like a monster to them; a complete monster. And yet Battler was still standing there, talking to her, smiling at her...

It didn't make her feel any better.

It made her feel _worse._

Shudders ran through Rosa's body. Her eyes began to sting, as though somebody had poured balsamic vinegar into them. A few seconds later- her eyes red-rimmed, her hair a mess, her skin sickly pale- horrible, heart-broken sobs began to wrench their way from Rosa's throat, each more painful than the last. Sniffing, trying to control herself (she couldn't; she'd spent her whole _life _trying to 'control herself'), Rosa buried her face in her hands, her hair coiling against the table-top. She didn't want Battler to see her like this, s-she didn't-

S-she must have looked so _pathetic._

First she couldn't control her own daughter, and now she couldn't even control herself.

"A-aunt Rosa!" said Battler, his eyes widening in shock. Battler abandoned the useless quest for the elusive medicine and stood by the crying form of his aunt, looking down at her trembling body with concern.

What should he do? Should he... comfort her? Well, obviously- you couldn't leave a woman (no, not just a woman- any human being, regardless of gender. Damn. he was beginning to sound like that sexist old bastard) to cry. It wasn't just 'gentlemanly' to help those in need; it was a basic human response! B-but how should he comfort her? Rosa was his aunt; he could hardly ruffle her hair or kiss her on the cheek as he would've done with Maria. Would it look patronizing if he tried to soothe her?

...Screw it.

Rosa was obviously upset and she needed somebody. Battler was the only person there; _he_ had to be that somebody.

Battler took a seat and scooted next to Rosa. He tried to move the chair quietly, but its legs made a loud _skrrrttt _noise across the floor that made even him wince.

_Damn._

_Smooth, real smooth._

Battler sat down so close to Rosa their shoulders were bumping, whilst he took one of her hands in his. Her fingers were shaking so badly Battler could have believed she was freezing to death of hypothermia.

"Rosa, it's... okay...?" said Battler. His face contorted into a series of 'interesting' expressions as he tried to find the right words- but even as he spoke, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. It wasn't okay; it obviously wasn't.

Rosa was falling apart. Battler had never seen her like this before.

He'd hardly ever seen Rosa before full stop. He didn't have that many memories of her from when he was a child.

"I-I'm sorry..." Rosa apologized tearfully, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "I-I'm being silly."

"If you're upset about something it's not 'silly'," said Battler. He hoped he sounded comforting; in reality, he was making it all up as he went along. "It must be important. Um... I know we haven't spoken to each other in a while, but if there's something wrong you can tell me, right?"

"Y-you wouldn't understand."

Battler frowned. "I'm not a child, you know. I might act a little immature sometimes, but I'm... I'm not _Maria's _age, you know. I like to think I could be of some use. I don't attack cats with sharpened sticks anymore!"

Rosa whimpered softly, looking at Battler with tear-filled eyes. "I-I know that... I'm sorry. I-it's just, when I think of you- I can only think of that young kid with the goofy hair."

Battler pouted, putting on a show of faux-hurt. "I did _not _have goofy hair!"

"Hehe~" Rosa giggled despite her tears, as she grabbed hold of one of Battler's red spikes and pulled. "It's okay, you looked cute. It suited you."

"You've hurt my feelings! Is _this _the thanks I get for trying to comfort you?"

"Sorry, sorry. I was just teasing. Hehe..." Rosa's light-hearted laughter soon began to break. Her smile fractured down the middle like a broken window. Rosa's fingers began trembling again- and, subconsciously, she held onto Battler's hand just a little tighter.

It felt nice having somebody to rely on. Even if that somebody _was_ about twenty years younger than you.

"I'm sorry I could find any medicine," said Battler, talking just so he could fill up the sudden, awkward silence. "Maybe you could go and talk to Nanjo? Um, if he's still awake... Or I could make you some tea? Kyrie always says it's soothing, and it looks like this-" Battler gestured towards the teacup by Rosa's elbow "-has gone cold. Cold tea isn't very nice- trust me. O-or I could..."

"No," said Rosa. "No, it's okay. D-don't..."

Battler looked at her curiously. "Don't...?"

Rosa's face flushed light pink. She felt like a school girl again; her hair might as well have been tied up in those two _stupid _pigtails.

When she next spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

"D-don't leave."

How many times had Rosa said that before, and to how many men? Some of them promised they wouldn't. Others just laughed in her face.

Even the ones who promised left in the end, though.

They always did.

Obviously, Rosa wasn't allowed to be happy.

Maria was the only person who always stayed by Rosa's side- and that was only because she was too young to survive on her own. Rosa sometimes wondered if, given the chance, Maria would run away to live happily ever after with her fantasy friends. She wouldn't want to live with the 'evil witch' that lurked inside her mother, would she...?

Nobody wanted Rosa.

_Nobody._

But...

B-but Battler wasn't leaving...

His hand was so warm and comforting against hers.

She felt...

Safe.

She hadn't felt safe in a long time.

"I won't leave. What sort of man would I be if I did that?" asked Battler, giving Rosa his signature grin. It was eerily like Rudolf's. "I'll sit here and talk to you if you want. However long you like. It beats lying awake in the cousins' room listening to the storm outside and Jessica snoring. Ihihi~" Battler grinned. "I am _soo _going to tease Jessica about that tomorrow, you see if I don't. It'll be _hilarious._"

"Huh, that's strange. I thought you were meant to be 'mature'?"

"Well, yeah..." Battler smirked. "But when I'm with Jessica and George I suddenly feel like a little kid again! It's been so long since I saw them last, too- it's, like, a real energy boost! Even more than five cups of coffee!"

Rosa smiled, looking up at Battler's face from under her eyelashes. He looked _radiant_; so impossibly cheerful that, for a few seconds, Rosa worried his bright nature would drain the remaining life out of her body and she'd crumble to dust.

No other man would sit and talk to her like this. They all left her.

But...

But not Battler.

"I'm just..." Rosa sighed, looking down at her fingers, intertwined with Battler. Looking directly at Battler's face was beginning to get dangerous, like staring directly into the sun. Her cheeks felt too red, her heartbeat was a little too fast, and her brain had begun to throw such an array of confusing images at her she felt sick and dizzy. "I-I'm just worried... that n-no man will ever want me... a-and I'll end up alone..."

Rosa shuddered as she felt fingers suddenly splay across her cheek, cupping her face in a tender motion. Her head was tilted up slightly so her eyes, still misty, met Battler's bright blue ones.

Rosa could hear her heartbeat hammer in her ears.

T-they were too close, this was too intimate; B-battler was her _family, _for God's sake, and he obviously had no idea what he was doing... H-he was still that seven year old kid with hair that never lay flat in her eyes!

But _this _Battler was a charming, kind, comforting young man, who wanted her to be happy.

N-no other man had wanted her to happy before; they were all so selfish. B-but Battler was different...

_This _was different.

Rosa's face flushed light pink.

S-she really must have been desperate (disgusting, too) to be seriously considering... w-well, _this_- but the memories of Beatrice, her head smashed open with globules of glistening red strewn about the rocks like raw meat, had opened the lid on the Pandora's Box inside Rosa's mind. All her errant thoughts and feelings (things she'd tried to suppress over the years) were teeming round inside her skull, a-and her skull really wasn't big enough for all of this, n-not at all...

She didn't want to be alone.

She didn't want to be alone anymore.

A-and Battler...

He made her feel...

_Wanted._

"You won't be alone, Rosa," said Battler, smiling. "You're... i-it's kind of weird for me to say this, but you're really pretty. You should be able to find a man easily! Any man! Don't give up hope."

But Rosa had been skirting dangerously close to hopeless_ness _for the past few years.

Battler was a child- he didn't understand.

He was so young.

B-but, as he held her cheek gently in his fingers as though she might shatter, Rosa realized something. Something that made her inhale sharply.

Her perfect fairytale prince, the person she'd doodled pictures of with wax crayons from an early age, the man she'd always wanted to rescue her from Rokkenjima...

H-he was right here, cupping her face with his hands.

He was sat right in front of her.

Her ideal fairytale prince had been _exactly like _Ushiromiya Battler.

Rosa wasn't sure what she was doing anymore. Her whole world had splintered away, shattered from underneath her feet. Maybe it had happened just now- or maybe it had happened slowly, over time, the moment Beatrice's head cracked against those merciless, unforgiving rocks.

The only thought running through Rosa's head was _I don't want to be alone._

After thirty seven years of searching, she'd finally found him. Her...

H-her prince.

Nobody else cared about her apart from Maria- but that was only because Maria _had_ to.

A horrible thought struck Rosa. She was going to die by herself, lonely, with no family or friends to care for her. She was destined to be alone in life- and Battler's hand squeezing hers was the only thing that assured her somebody still cared. His hand was like a life line; warm and comforting. If she let go she'd die.

If she let go of Ushiromiya Battler the universe would come crashing down around her- along with all her childhood dreams.

T-this...

This could be her last chance.

A-and she was so very tired of being alone.

Maybe that was what Rosa was thinking as she leant forwards- heart pounding, body trembling, eyelids fluttering shut- and, ever so gently, pressed her lips against Battler's.

Or maybe she just wasn't thinking at all.

It was difficult to tell.


	4. o4

**Irony****  
><strong>Chapter Four

* * *

><p>"W-what are you doing?"<p>

Battler backed away from Rosa in horror, his eyes wide and his mouth partially open. A delicate strand of gossamer saliva hung in the air, suspended between Rosa and Battler's open mouths; a physical representation of what Rosa had done. It was a solid piece of evidence that perhaps, this time, she had completely lost her mind.

She couldn't take this back.

Rosa's trembling fingers found her parted lips, open in an 'o' just like Battler's. She moved suddenly, jerking her head backwards as the full realization of what she'd done hit her. Her sudden movement severed that horrible, hateful spider web thin strand of saliva. It disappeared as though it had never been there at all. However, Rosa couldn't scrub clean the taste of Ushiromiya Battler from her mouth. It was spreading across her tongue, just like the flavor of fine tea.

Impossible to deny.

She had really done it. S-she really had...

Rosa's face was pale; so white she could have been a paper cut out, or one of those Halloween ghosts Maria was so fond of. She didn't know why she'd done it- except, for a few seconds, it had seemed so necessary.

She didn't want Battler to leave her (she didn't want to be alone) but now, as she quailed under the look of horror Battler gave her, she knew she'd made a mistake. A terrible mistake.

_"Poor little Rosa~" _the witch's cruel voice crooned in Rosa's ear (inside her own head). _"You can't do anything right, can you? Kikikiki~"_

Maybe that was why Rosa was always alone. She was so desperate, so needy- and people took advantage of that. They used her. And then they threw her aside.

Battler had more decency than those other men. Battler, despite being young, and despite having wild hair that wouldn't lie flat no matter how many times he patted it down or ran a comb through it, was a real gentleman. Battler was kind and considerate- Rosa knew that much from the brief discussion they'd had. H-he wasn't like the other men...

He wouldn't use Rosa.

Instead, he'd simply recoil in fear- because he was still young (far too young), and he said he wanted to help her but he could _never_ hope to shoulder all of Rosa's pain. Thirty-seven years of false fantasies and helpless dreams and ruined romances and blood staining her fingers (it smelt of rust; salty sea air and rust, and Rosa's mouth tasted like vomit- as though something had _died_ inside her mouth) was far too much for any person to hold. It had been selfish of Rosa to force all that pain onto Battler.

A-and, besides...

H-he was twenty years younger than her.

She was his _Aunt_, f-for God's sake.

W-what had she been hoping for? Obviously he would push her away. Even though Battler was kind and considerate- she could tell by the fond way he'd spoken of Ange and the small smiles he offered Rosa when he tried to comfort her- he would obviously be abhorred by Rosa's advances.

The desperation of a mad woman; destined to die a lonely spinster.

What a cheerful future she had stretching out in front of her.

Ha.

And when she was a child, she'd dreamed of princes on white horses and fairytale palaces.

W-what had she done?

What would happen if (_when_) Battler told Kyrie and Rudolf? Obviously, Rosa's other relatives would find out- and then they'd all despise her. Or maybe they'd look at her with false pity instead, sympathy burning a hole through her stomach like acid, and that would be even worse.

_Poor Rosa, _Eva would say, smirking. _I always knew she'd do something like this. Her life is falling apart around her; all she has left is that annoying brat who won't shut up when she's told. And nobody wants a woman who already has a child. No wonder she's so desperate! But to think- she'd actually try something with her own _relative _who's half her age? How sad!_

Rosa's fingers fisted in her hair, tugging at handfuls of it whilst her trembling body slumped against the table. She didn't have the strength to keep sitting upright. She didn't have the strength to do much of anything, really.

Her hands smelt of blood.

Her mouth was filled with Battler's saliva.

She might have been imagining it, given her state of hysteria, but it felt like she was going to choke.

W-what was she going to do?

She was going to be alone again, of course. People always said they'd stay with her but they never meant it; never, never, _never_; and maybe there was a reason for that. It was all her fault.

Stupid Rosa; the youngest sibling; the girl who still believed in true love and fairytales; the girl who couldn't do anything right.

The girl who killed Beatrice.

The woman who forced herself on Battler.

_"Useless!~ You're uselessss~ I already told you; people like you should just die!"_

"I-I'm not going to tell anybody about this," said Battler, his voice shaking. It cut through Rosa's internal monologue like a knife, digging into her flesh to make new wounds- dragging out internal organs and mixed emotions (none of them very happy) in fresh showers of red blood. "I-I... I... I-I think it would be wrong. B-but Rosa... I think you need some help. A-and I'm sorry I couldn't... But... I _can't_... I-I don't know what to do."

Rosa didn't want to look at Battler.

She couldn't.

Battler was trying to be so mature, so responsible- but it was only natural he wouldn't know what to do. Rosa hardly knew what she was doing herself anymore.

Her world was slipping out from beneath her fingertips.

Or... maybe it already _had_ a long time ago.

Battler was afraid of her- she knew it. And maybe she was a little afraid of herself, too. She didn't know what she was doing anymore- but she was so afraid and lonely (a little girl running through a fairytale forest, only the day was getting dark and she was tripping over fallen branches and she'd lost her way) she didn't much care.

Battler left her.

They always left her.

And she didn't blame them.

S-she...

She _hated_ herself.

Rosa's stomach turned and she knew, instinctively, she was going to be sick. N-no, that wasn't it. She _had_ to be sick- she had no choice. She had to purge the taste of Battler, with his smiles and compassion and confusion, out of her mouth.

Rosa got to her feet, clumsy and graceless, knocking her chair over in the process. She staggered to the kitchen sink, fingers slipping underneath the touch of cold metal that bit through her flesh.

It burnt her throat when she vomited, profusely- again and again, until she could hardly keep herself standing upright. Her legs trembled. It felt as though they would give away underneath the dead weight of her body.

Being sick didn't help.

It made her feel worse.

Shuddering, still feeling ill though there was nothing left in her body to regurgitate save air, Rosa slumped down onto the floor, her arms wrapping round her knees.

She began to cry.

* * *

><p>"W-why are you showing me this? What the fuck are you doing? Do you think this is <em>funny<em>?" Ushiromiya Battler shouted, his hands balling into fists as he glared at Beatrice.

Beatrice looked up at Battler with a bored expression flickering across her face. She looked at Battler disinterestedly; he might as well have been a stain on the floor, or dirt on the sole of her shoe.

"I'm not showing you my beautifully laid out game board to get a few laughs, Battlerrr~" said Beatrice, rolling her eyes. She spoke in a very condescending tone heavily laced with sarcasm, as though Battler were a stubborn five year old who couldn't grasp the simple concept of two plus two equaling four. "Maybe there's a reason I orchestrated such beautiful scenes with my pieces. You just need to look a little deeeeper~ Kikikiki~"

"Y-you...Y-you..." But Battler couldn't finish his sentence. He didn't have the words in his vocabulary to fully describe what, exactly, Beatrice was.

The image of his Aunt Rosa, completely broken and defeated, crouching on the floor with her arms round her knees, was… I-it was so pathetically tragic it could bring Battler to tears.

Battler could hardly watch Rosa without feeling his heart constrict in his chest. When Rosa had, with a look of such desperation on her face it seemed likely she would _die,_ tightened her grip on piece-Battler's fingers and pressed her lips against his own, Battler had felt a small part of him splinter away and fall into an empty gulf of nothing.

A memory stirred at the back of Battler's mind.

The young Rosa, girlish pigtails and wide eyes, side-stepping round the jagged rocks to uncover Beatrice's dead body.

The young Rosa, who looked so much like Maria it was just a little bit eerie, had turned her head- her face ashen, knees giving way underneath her- and vomited onto the ground.

Battler had seen the light of innocence burn out in Rosa's eyes then. The hollow, empty look in her face when piece-Battler pulled away from the adult version of Rosa had been exactly the same.

Haunting.

It were as if she was looking upon the bloodied corpse of Beatrice once more when Battler pulled away; as though he'd pulled her whole world out from underneath her feet.

Roas was still broken.

Completely broken.

Rosa- his _aunt_, the woman who always seemed so dependable (despite her 'disputes' with Maria)- had collapsed under the weight of her own misery until she was barely recognizable as a human being anymore. She looked just a little girl again; just as lost and lonely and upset... And maybe, Battler thought, she'd always been like that. Maybe Beatrice's death had tripped a wire inside her head, or pushed something out of place, and Rosa had never fully recovered.

Seeing a fully grown woman break down and cry like that had been_ horrible__; perhaps even worse than the multiple gruesome deaths Beatrice subjected to._

Battler glared at Beatrice with such smoldering hate it was a wonder his eyes didn't catch fire. He strode towards the smirking witch purposefully and, within three footsteps, was stood right in front her. His hand smashed against the back of her white chair.

_Crunch._

Battler winced. Alright, maybe that show of pseudo-masculinity had been an error of judgment on his part, giving punching solid objects like chairs really was quite painful.

However, Battler tried to suppress the agony that was budding through his hand.

The rest of his body was numb with anger so the searing pain in his crushed knuckles was quite the contrast- a little bit like going out in the snow, then drinking hot chocolate immediately afterwards.

Battler had done that with Ange once, after they'd made snow angels (indistinct, indeterminate snow shapes, more like) in the back garden one cold January morning…

But that didn't matter now.

Of course.

The memory of Ange, his beloved little sister, had further spurred Battler's sense of justice, though. He remembered the dead-eyed, broken form of the young Rosa stood before Beatrice's equally broken, mangled corpse. No child should have to be subjected to something like that. If Battler ever saw Ange with a similar blankness consuming her face, he'd…

H-he would know what to do.

He had to protect the people he cared about from Beatrice and her cruel games. Rosa wasn't that much more different to Maria or Ange, in a way. It didn't matter that she was Battler's aunt; that didn't matter at all.

If somebody was in pain you extended your hand and helped them.

No matter what.

"Stop smiling like it's a funny- o-or a really big, hilarious _joke_," Battler snapped, leaning over Beatrice. Their faces were so close their noses almost bumped, and when Battler spoke flecks of his spit landed on Beatrice's face as the poison-tipped words fell off his tongue. "It's _not_. Y-you can't... You can't fucking _play around _with people's emotions like that."

Beatrice's ocean blue eyes narrowed. "I'm not 'playing around'. Stupid Battlerrr~ I'm being incredibly serious. If I am playing, as you put it, then I'm playing to _win_."

"A-and how is breaking down Aunt Rosa going to help you **win**? What, exactly, is it going to help you win? Y-you're just doing this because you _enjoy _it, aren't you, you… y-you… Y-you fucking sadist!"

There was another crunch, as Battler slammed his fist into Beatrice's chair again.

It still hurt.

He really should have learnt from last time; but Battler felt so angry he hardly even felt the pain.

"I'm not a sadist. I'm not cruel for the sake of being cruel," said Beatrice, her voice surprisingly calm. For once, she wasn't returning Battler's vitriol with childish insults or insane laughter. She sounded oddly serious. "Keep in mind that I cannot manipulate pieces to act out of character. I am showing a realistic outcome of events that could have happened. At least... from an emotional view point, at any rate."

Battler's eyes widened. He drew away from Beatrice slowly, staggering, like a zombie.

Realization dawned.

"Y-you're saying... y-you're saying Rosa has... always been like this?" asked Battler, his voice barely a whisper.

"She has a lot of conflicting emotions, like most human beings. I merely manipulated the more extreme ones to show you that particular scenario."

"B-but... But _why_?"

"Why...?" asked Beatrice, her voice trailing off in thought. She tipped her head back, golden bangs shifting gently at the slight movement, as she stared up at the white, white ceiling. "Why, I wonder," she muttered, more to herself than to Battler, her eyes still pointedly looking away from Battler. "That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself."

Battler winced as though he'd been hit in the stomach.

"S-so you've decided to fuck around with people's emotions now? It wasn't enough simply to _kill them _in the most horrible, brutal ways possible? Y-you... You have to unearth my family members' old memories and _drive them all insane _before you oh-so-kindly kill them off, huh? Didn't you ever think that some things are **private**; some people think and feel things they don't want others to know! Have some human decency!"

Beatrice sighed, closing her eyes. It looked as though she was getting a headache. "I'm not being cruel for my own entertainment, I already told you. I really wish you'd listen when I speak to you, Battlerrrr. Then maybe you wouldn't be so incompetent. Kikiki~"

However, Beatrice's laughter was surprisingly weak; a shadow of her usual insane cackles. At that moment, Beatrice sounded a lot like an actress half-heartedly playing a role she didn't want to fill.

Couldn't somebody else take her role… just for a little while?

Battler, however, was far too angry to care.

A voice at the back of Battler's head (a voice more rational than the one that came from his mouth) told him he had to calm down. This was _exactly _what Beatrice wanted. Beatrice _wanted _his emotions to get the better of him, until he became so angry he could hardly see straight and he began to make mistakes. He had to remain unaffected and aloof if he wanted to win this game.

But the vision of Rosa- both her younger and older selves- with tear-filled eyes, trying to hold onto broken dreams and happiness as they drained away between her cupped hands, was simply too much.

Thinking about it was... too painful.

"You're a monster," Battler said, stabbing a finger at Beatrice. "A cruel, heartless bitch. I don't even want to look at you right now."

"Leave then," said Beatrice, her voice light and unaffected. "I'll keep the game on hold for you. Don't leave me waiting too long, though, Battlerrr, or I'll get bored. I might start digging into Natsuhi next~ She has a lot of pent-up feelings you'd be _verrry _interested in hearing. Kikiki~"

There was a small pause as Battler tried to process those words- far more cutting than any red truth Beatrice had attacked his defenses with.

Then-

"_Fuck you_," Battler snarled.

And he dissolved in a flurry of golden butterflies.

* * *

><p>"Are you alright, Milady?" asked Ronove, his voice considerably more gentle than usual, as he poured Beatrice a cup of tea.<p>

Kyrie was right- tea really _was _soothing. It was a good alternative if aspirin wasn't available. Then again, the source of Beatrice's headache wasn't something that could be cured with medication; it was something rooted inside her heart, which had been building and building for the past thousand years.

And it was all because of him.

Battler.

"I'm fine," said Beatrice tiredly. For perhaps the first time, she truly sounded her age. Her voice was dry, lifeless, as though she were a corpse. "It's just... heh..."

Beatrice smiled a humorless smile, accepting the cup of tea from her butler. She took a sip of it, not caring it was scalding hot.

Beatrice sighed, setting the teacup back down on the saucer. The small _chink _noise split through the silence. It was louder than it should have been.

"...He called me heartless," said Beatrice, after a small pause.

She smiled.

What a great joke.

Ushiromiya Battler knew so little it was actually kind of funny.

Or maybe…

It was actually quite depressing.

Beatrice couldn't tell anymore.

She'd been on the stage too long- and now she wanted to change out of her costume and step out of character. Being horrible took far too much effort- and if her only reward was a cup of tea, it didn't seem worth it.

Not really.

Not anymore.

This carefully set up 'game' was quickly losing the leading lady's appeal.


	5. o5

**Irony****  
><strong>Chapter Five

* * *

><p>"I-I'm not going to forgive you," said Battler. Even though his voice was shaking the determination in his tone washed away almost all but the barest hints of a stammer.<p>

"What are you talking about?~ This is fun, right? Riiiight?" Beatrice asked, a cruel smile splitting across her face. Then, she began to cackle. "What did you think about the stupid look on Rosa's face? Gyahahaha!~"

Battler recoiled from Beatrice's laughter, his face flickering through about fifteen different emotions before he finally settled on a single one that expressed all his feelings. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth pulled into a smirk.

Battler's face clearly read 'disgust'; plain and simple.

It was the same expression Battler wore when he came home from school to find Ange rifling through the kitchen drawers and playing with bread knives with nobody there to supervise her. Honestly, that girl would've put both her eyes out long before now if her loving brother hadn't there to protect her from the horrors of Finnish silverware.

Battler looked as though he had just picked something unpleasant from his shoe, or else had found a moldy orange covered with blue fluff under his bed. Or maybe, just maybe, he looked like he'd just witnessed a younger version of Eva in an overly-ornate dress crushing his Aunt and cousin under a giant cake, drowning them in jelly, and then dropping their choking, shuddering corpses from great heights over and over again as though they were limp dolls.

Battler didn't want to see Rosa suffer such humiliating deaths at the hands of a demon girl with Eva's face. Especially not after what he'd seen...

Maria was still so young; she didn't deserve to suffer at all. Couldn't Beatrice leave Maria alone? Couldn't she let Maria- even the piece Maria- hold onto her childish hopes and dreams just a little longer?

Maria had finally met a witch- but that witch didn't want to show her the Golden Land.

Instead, that witch wanted to kill her.

And Rosa certainly didn't deserve to suffer at all.

Perhaps nobody 'deserved' to suffer (not even Beatrice; though Battler was having some rather dark, distinctly ungentlemanly thoughts about her), but Rosa had already survived so much pain and hardship it seemed… unfair, somehow, to force anymore misfortune upon her.

Not when Rosa's real life (her life devoid of magic and witches and impossible deaths, again and again) was already so complicated and upsetting it had crushed her.

Battler wasn't sure which sight was worse; the image of Rosa crouched on the floor in the kitchen, rocking back and forth like a child, or the image of her broken corpse with arms and legs at awkward angles and her hair matted with blood.

And yet, despite all that, Beatrice kept smiling.

Beatrice had been _grinning _when the younger version of Eva murdered Rosa and poor, defenseless little Maria; the girl who loved witches and the occult so much; but_ her_ dreams were being broken, too, as the life drained out of her eyes over and over again.

Beatrice thought it was _funny_.

A joke.

But it wasn't to Battler.

It turned his stomach.

Human lives weren't something to be scorned. Battler didn't care if Beatrice was an 'endless witch' with no concept of life or death ("they're just like two opposing sides of a coin to her," Virgilia had tried to explain). Even though Beatrice could resurrect dead bodies with the same ease a normal person could've used setting up a table.

A table with all the blue prints in tact, of course. As Battler and Rudolf had found out during a strange moment of father-son bonding time, setting up a table without the instructions was actually quite a lot harder than it looked- despite Rudolf's initial bravado that 'blueprints? I don't need things like that; the knowledge of how to construct furniture should course through a man's blood from birth! Ha!'

In the end, it had been Kyrie who had fished the blueprints from the trash can and used them to piece the table together properly.

That was a story for another time, though.

It was a memory of happier events that belonged in another world.

Beatrice should have held more respect for the real, living, breathing, thinking and _feeling _human beings she controlled. Beatrice wasn't merely pushing round characters on a stage, creating a play that wasn't really real. To Beatrice's 'actors', they thought they _were_ real- and, to that end, Beatrice should have treated them as human beings.

As equals.

If it looks like a human being and acts like a human being it _is _a human being- even if they were, in actuality, pieces on a board that could be set up over and over again no matter how much their paintwork was chipped or scratched.

The deaths were... w-well, Battler hated to think of it this way, as it made him feel heartless, but the deaths were necessary. If the murders stopped neither Battler or Beatrice would have any ammunition left to continue their game, and the pair would reach an impasse. They'd be doomed to sit in the too-white meta world forever drinking cups of tea like an old couple who'd run out of things to say and secretly hated each other even though they had to stay together.

But Beatrice didn't have to kill them like _that_. S-she didn't...

If she had any shred of humanity left in her withered heart, she wouldn't.

And she didn't have to _laugh, __either._

It was the laughter more than anything that got to Battler.

He wanted to save his family- but being forced to witness gruesome death after gruesome death, with no viable way to interrupt the 'story' being played out before him, was too much. How could Battler save Rosa now? How could he help her when her cracked skull was leaking brain slowly across the grey stone walkway in the rose garden?

Battler had always wanted to be a hero ever since he was eight and he used to spout those disgustingly embarrassing English lines about 'saving fair maidens' to anybody who'd give him the time of the day (Battler vaguely remembered he used to say things like that to Shannon a lot. Poor girl; it was no wonder she kept blushing and looking at the floor when she came into contact with Battler on the game board).

But this was a scenario Battler couldn't help with.

He couldn't get up on the stage to interrupt Beatrice's carefully-made script. Any attempt to do so would've colored the game board black and white, as the characters froze and Battler became the only living thing.

It was impossible to intervene.

A-and yet, despite that...

Battler wanted to.

He felt like he _had_ to.

It was his duty to stop Beatrice because nobody else could.

But that was impossible.

Maybe that was why he was so angry.

"I used to mess around with magic like this too~" said Beatrice, her voice light-hearted and teasing. She smiled as she reminisced, clasping her hands together at her chest. "I admit drowning somebody in jelly isn't very elegant, but if you had the chance, wouldn't you do it? Just to see what happens? Don't be so boring, Battlerrr, it's all in good fun! Besides, I can always set the pieces up again for another game if you're soooo very upset! Kikiki! Gyahaha-"

But Beatrice's insane, demonic laughter soon cut off. Quite abruptly, too.

"B-battler...?"

Battler had just slapped her.

The sound of his palm meeting Beatrice's cheek still seemed to resound in the air; echoing over and over again, like the resultant _plink _when a stone was dropped into the bottom of a deep well.

Beatrice's fingers found her cheek, which was beginning to bloom light pink. Her eyes were just a little wider than usual in surprise, and Battler was pleased to note he'd managed to knock the smug, self-satisfied smirk off her lips.

Even so, he couldn't but feel a little guilty. He'd hit a girl- and he'd never done that before. But...

But Beatrice wasn't just a 'girl', and all the people in the world who possessed breasts weren't automatically sweet and innocent via association. That was an old stereotype. Beatrice may have been a woman, but she was cruel, selfish, sadistic, and she was playing around with the lives of Battler's family members as though they were cards in a deck or pieces on a chessboard. Perhaps they_ were_ to her- but not to Battler. Beatrice _needed_ to have a little sense slapped into her- and maybe, whilst Battler was at it, a few shreds of human decency and compassion, too.

Then again, maybe Battler was being overly hopeful (too optimistic, as always).

The idea of Beatrice being kind, sweet-natured and thoughtful was actually quite disturbing.

"I don't want to play a game against an unworthy opponent like you," Battler said, trying to quell his unnecessary pangs of guilt. "You play around with human lives but you don't value! You don't have any right controlling people you can't understand! Have fun playing your sick, twisted games alone, because I don't want to be involved in any of them. Not until you get your act together and start acting like a decent human being. Or, failing that- a cruel witch who at least wants to try out that novel little thing called 'civility' for a few moments."

And, with that, Battler vanished.

* * *

><p>Beatrice winced, her fingers prodding at her cheek experimentally.<p>

It was still sore.

She had to count her blessings, though. It wasn't really painful. Beatrice knew what real pain felt like.

Her reddening cheek was not as sore as the pain that bubbled up inside her heart; the pain which had been festering, like a diseased wound, for one thousand years.

He thought she didn't have feelings.

How funny.

That wasn't it. In fact, the crux of the problem lay in the exact opposite of Ushiromiya Battler's words. It wasn't that Beatrice had no feelings.

She had _too many _of them.

Beatrice sighed, tipping her head back so her blue eyes stared at the ceiling.

At first she'd wanted to hurt Battler; hurt him as badly as he'd hurt her (and he didn't even _realize _he had, which made it worse).

But now...

Now, hurting Battler wasn't so much fun anymore. Had it ever been? Instead, Beatrice the Golden Witch felt tired. Horribly tired. She just wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep.

She wanted to forget everything.

She wanted to forget those long, lonely thousand years; the thorns that dug inside her chest she couldn't tear out; that promise from eons ago; Ushiromiya Battler and his stupid _justice _and hair and sky-blue eyes and all that hatred that dripped off his tongue; and the grisly murders that would sweep through Rokkenjima again and again until Battler finally realized- finally remembered- what he'd done.

But Beatrice couldn't sleep. There was no rest for the wicked, after all (or those playing the roles of the wicked, which amounted to the same thing anyway). Beatrice had to go back down to her game board (what a beautiful mess she'd created this time) and discipline Evatrice; show her the ways of a _real _witch.

But Beatrice was no witch.

And she was getting so very, very tired of pretending.

He cheek still stung; a physical reminder of just how much Ushiromiya Battler hated her.

_Battler..._

_You idiot._

* * *

><p>"What are you doing? I don't even want to look at your face," said Battler, his voice dripping with disdain.<p>

Beatrice had to bite down on her tongue to halt the sarcastic, cutting remark that threatened to push past her meek, demure façade. Antagonizing Battler would_ not_ help her plan; not at all.

"I'm sorry," said Beatrice, lowering her head. "I-I... just thought I should tell you of the situation regarding Rosa and Maria. I intervened." Beatrice lifted her head slightly at this, her words filled with carefully constructed hope. "I-I tried to end their lives in a peaceful, humane way, just like you wanted..."

Battler snorted, rolling his eyes. "So dropping Rosa onto an iron fence was _peaceful_, was it? You've got a pretty sick idea of 'peace', Beato."

Beatrice flinched slightly. The movement was carefully calculated (again), with no real feeling behind it. Sometimes, even though Beatrice was the puppet master who manipulated her little dolls from the shadows, she felt as though _she _were the real marionette in this story. Her legs were bound to this game by an iron shackle set in place by Lady Lambdadelta, and Beatrice couldn't leave even if she wanted to. Even though she was beginning, very much so, to want _to._

Especially when Battler looked at her with those narrowed, hate-filled eyes.

Beatrice... didn't want to play this game anymore.

She didn't want to hurt Battler.

And she wanted him to stop hurting her.

"W-well," said Beatrice, affecting an air of humility that contrasted so sharply with her usual image it almost stung, "at least I managed to stop the new Beatrice. T-that has to count for something, right? S-so... can I be your opponent again?"

Battler glared at Beatrice with such intensity it could have burnt a hole through her forehead. Beatrice didn't need to pretend to recoil this time; she did it subconsciously, without realizing she was doing it.

Battler looked... _angry. _Livid, even. Beatrice had never seen Battler look like that before- it was just a little bit terrifying, even to the Golden Witch.

"I don't want you to be my opponent. Not until you've apologized for all the shit you've put me and my family through, over and over again- and even then, I don't think that would be enough! I don't think it would help! Not really! Not unless you meant it!"

"T-then..." Beatrice's fingers fisted round her dress, the heavy fabric rustling slightly. "T-then, I apologize! I'll swallow my pride for you and I'll apologize, okay? Is that good enough?"

"No it's _not! _You don't even know what you're apologizing _for_!"

Beatrice's eyes became cloudy, shimmering, like waves shifting against the beach. At this point, she didn't know whether she was acting or not anymore. It was getting too real, too confusing, and everything was mixed up inside her head like a fruit salad. It was fine playing a part when she knew she was an actress, spouting lines she didn't believe in- but when the distinction between reality and acting became blurred, Battler's cutting words really began to _hurt_. They bit through her façade like hail, digging into her heart and withering the already blackened roots that pierced through her insides.

"B-but... But you forgave me after the second game," said Beatrice, her voice tearful. She looked down at her dress, glad for the shifting colors; she could distract herself by trying to find patterns in it. "Y-you've forgiven me for worse things than this, and I wasn't even trying to earn your respect before... Why can't you accept my apology now?"

Why did Battler have to be so _stubborn?_

Beatrice had told Battler numerous times that she hadn't broken Rosa down for her own personal entertainment. Those sentiments might have become a little mixed up and confused, given Beatrice's typical laughter and wicked smiles, but Beatrice had been telling the truth. Granted, given the nature of her 'game', it was dangerous believing _anything _Beatrice said was the absolute truth. Nothing but the red text was certain, and everything could shift and distort, like a mist or miasma. Battler was doing the right thing **not **to trust her. If he blindly believed in everything Beatrice said he wouldn't have been a decent opponent.

He would have been kneeling at her feet, glorifying Beatrice's name, five seconds into the first game.

But Beatrice didn't want that.

Maybe she had wanted to hurt Battler at the beginning- but not anymore. She…

S-she couldn't hurt him.

Each and every insult she spat at Battler burnt her mouth, turning her tongue black. She didn't mean any of her cruel words, not really- until even pretending to hate Ushiromiya Battler was enough to make her feel ill.

Beatrice wanted him to trust her.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Because she was his enemy.

There was also the fact Beatrice had tried to feed him alive to her goat headed butlers. That generally didn't foster feelings of goodwill between people (that was why humans exchanged harmless things like socks and books for Christmas, instead of imminent threats to the internal organs. Socks and books were far less offensive than death threats and mass homicide).

B-but...

But Beatrice didn't _want _Battler to hate her.

She didn't.

Even though he had to.

"You've forgiven me for worse things," said Beatrice quietly. "Why… w-why can't you just accept my apology now?"

Battler's face softened, every so slightly, at Beatrice's words. He sighed. He no longer looked angry- instead, he seemed... upset?

"Forgiveness doesn't work like that, Beato."

"T-then what should I-"

"Figure it out for yourself. Ask Virgilia. Ask Ronove. They seem to have some basic understanding of common courtesy and human nature, even if it continues to elude you," said Battler. Some of his usual sarcasm colored his words, and a very small, barely-there smile had begun to tug his lips as he teased Beatrice- but there was something melancholy about it, too. "I'm sorry, Beato, but I don't want to play this game against a person like you. Not until you understand."

"B-but..." Beatrice's eyes darted about the too-white room, fluttering about like a moth drawn to sunlight. She'd planned this confrontation in her head before (the traveler won't remove his cloak unless the sun starts to shine) but, for whatever reason, she felt... scared.

Almost exposed.

"B-but if you don't tell me what I did wrong, how can I set it right?"

When Battler next spoke, he looked… sad. Beatrice wasn't sure whether he was upset over Rosa's fate- or whether he was upset for _her_.

"You should know what you did wrong already. If you don't… Then I can't help you." Battler sighed. "Maybe you're beyond help."

Beatrice's eyes widened as Battler's body slowly began to splinter away into golden butterflies. She needed him to stay- he couldn't go!

"W-wait!"

Beatrice's voice sounded too needy, too desperate- but she couldn't stop now.

She couldn't let Battler leave.

If he left, he might not come back.

Just like last time.

Beatrice had spent her whole life waiting for Ushiromiya Battler. If he left again, she didn't know what she would do… Especially after she'd gone to such great lengths keeping his attention, creating locked room murder after locked room murder with the vague promise of some greater reward tacked onto Battler's pain and suffering.

It was, perhaps, not the way most girls chose to display their feelings to the men they liked, but cruelty was all Beatrice had left.

Being kind didn't work.

She already knew that.

Being kind only got you hurt; broken-hearted.

It was better being cruel.

"If... I-if I let you talk to Rosa again... t-then... would you forgive me?"

Battler stared into Beatrice's hazy sky-sea eyes, confusion rippling across his face. Then he said, his voice soft, "Y-you'd... let me see Rosa? Really?"

Beatrice nodded. "If it would make you feel better. She's only a piece so... I can bring her here. If you wish. Death means little to me. It's a… sweet, funny concept you humans have. Heheh…"

She laughed a soft, nervous laugh- but it was completely devoid of malice.

Battler's eyes widened slightly. He wanted to talk to Rosa desperately. It'd felt like his innards had been pulled out as he watched Rosa being murdered again and again. The murders hadn't been that bad, though, compared to the emotional pain Rosa had suffered at Beatrice's hands. When you were murdered, you died, and that was it. But emotional problems were more complex, and they clung to you forever.

It was Battler's only chance to help.

He _had _to help.

He was the only person he could.

* * *

><p>Beatrice hoped Battler would forgive her with this sudden show of kindness- but, at the same time, she also hoped he <em>wouldn't.<em>

If he forgave her his heart would only be broken all the more when she revealed the true nature of her new plan; the plan she'd made with Virgilia.

But wasn't that the point? Beatrice _wanted _to hurt Battler- he _deserved _to be hurt after all he'd done to her.

Beatrice bit her lower lip.

She didn't know what she wanted to do anymore.

The voice in her head- the witch she pretended to be when Battler's eyes were on her- cackled menacingly.


	6. o6

**Irony****  
><strong>Chapter Six

* * *

><p>"N-ngh... W-what?"<p>

Moaning in pain, Ushiromiya Rosa slowly lifted her head from the table. Her headache was worse than ever. It felt as though her skull had suddenly compacted, crushing her brain into a marble-sized sphere.

Maybe she was really _was_ turning into Natushi.

That thought was so depressing Rosa wasn't sure whether to cry or not. Eventually, however, she decided on 'not'. Her head hurt enough in the relative silence already, without the gasping sound of endless tears added to it.

Memories flickered through her head like a reel of film- but they were blurred, sepia-tinted and hazy at the edges. Rosa could remember a young girl who looked an awful lot like the Eva of twenty years ago, with the short hair and straight-across bangs, and that cruel smile that never left her lips... However, she hadn't been attired in the usual blue sailor suit with the white ribbon Rosa always attributed to the younger Eva. Instead, she'd been wearing a dress so ornate it didn't seem to suit her.

H-had that been a dream?

It felt like a dream.

Eva would never have worn a dress like that, anyway; and that dress was proof enough, in Rosa's mind, that it had been a bizarre hallucination.

Why, then, could Rosa taste the lingering sweetness of cake on her tongue?

Rosa shuddered. All of a sudden she couldn't breathe; invisible fingers twisting through her skull, grasping hold of her throat, choking her. She could distinctly remember pain- painpainpain it hurt all over- and Maria had been crying; and then, like a rag doll, she'd been tossed- boneless- through the air and-

B-but that hadn't happened; surely that hadn't happened.

It must have been a nightmare.

"M-my head..." Rosa muttered, her defeated voice cutting through the silence.

Trembling, her fingers pressed against her temple, her eyes slowly opened. Rosa expected to see the uninspiring beige ceiling of one of the many guest rooms on Rokkenjima- or perhaps the ceiling of own bedroom at home.

Of course, that would have been far too simple.

What Rosa actually saw was so far removed from her expectations she began to wonder whether she was still dreaming (was it possible to dream whilst being aware you were dreaming? Wasn't that a phenomena that only existed in fiction?), or perhaps she'd just gone insane.

She was sat at a white chair at a white table, a teapot and a cup of tea on a saucer (why was it always tea?) laid out before her. The table was situated under a white arbor. It was so blindingly pale, like the moon in the night sky, that it was almost painful to look at, and Rosa's eyelids fluttered closed as the onslaught of white burnt itself into her unprepared retinas like fire. Even when she closed her eyes she could still see white spots, like stars, flickering across her vision. Her head began to pound with more intensity.

Red roses coiled round the arbor in thick, thorny chains, like something from a fairytale; like something from the wax crayons drawings Rosa had created when she sat in her room. Roses spread out as far as the eye could see, all blood red and perfectly formed. It was like the rose garden in Rokkenjima the servants were so proud of, but in this particular rose garden it was obvious there were no ailing flowers like the one Maria had taken a shine to.

There were no sickly or twisted or malformed flowers at all.

These flowers were foreign to Rosa- and maybe they were a little intimidating in their beauty.

Rosa was reminded, forcefully, of the rose garden that had been her grave. The metal spike of the fence had pierced through her throat and out of her open mouth, but it still took a few seconds for Rosa to die. A few seconds had been long enough to feel the kiss of cold metal as it forced itself through her tongue in a burst of red, choking on her own blood as it bubbled on her lips.

Rosa shuddered, her fingers falling against her throat, just to check whether it was free of any cold metal. It was- obviously. She could even feel her pulse underneath her fingertips.

That had never happened.

That had been a dream, surely?

Her surroundings at that exact moment didn't look too realistic either, though. The air was impossibly sweet, as though it ran with milk and honey. Golden butterflies flitted through the air like dust motes, so breathtakingly lovely Rosa gasped when she saw them alighting on the red, red roses. The sky was a perfect blue, broken only by a few stray clouds that drifted lazily in the air.

"W-where am I...?" she muttered, more to herself than anything. She wasn't expecting a response.

That was why she was so surprised when she got one.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. Beato said this was a nice place to hold a conversation... I don't really trust her, but I guess she's right about some things. The tea was her idea, too. Ihihi~"

Rosa's eyes widened. For the first time, she realized she wasn't alone. Her eyes had been drawn to the golden butterflies and red roses but, now she focused her vision and looked about her properly, she saw another person was sat opposite her, in a similar chair to hers'.

...It wasn't just 'another person', though.

Rosa knew that voice.

She knew that messy red hair, that white suit and that easy-going (but slightly strained) smile.

"B-battler...?"

"The one and only," said Battler, grinning as he spread his arms wide.

Rosa felt her cheeks flush at this, and her eyes were instantly pulled downwards so she was staring her own lap. Other memories began to resurface in her mind; painful ones she thought she'd purged out of her body when she coughed and spluttered her insides out into the sink.

She had kissed him.

She had _kissed _him.

E-even if this was a dream, all of a sudden Rosa felt horribly trapped; shut up inside her own skin, with her own thoughts and feelings that just wouldn't _shut up. _She had never wanted to escape her own body more than she did at that moment- until she had almost convinced herself to drag her nails down her flesh and unzip her skin.

It would have been incredibly painful, and would have achieved nothing more than getting her suit covered in blood, but still.

Rosa wanted to escape.

She _needed_ to escape...

The scent of honey in the air was cloying, far too sweet, and it turned her stomach. Battler's smile- so bright, so innocent- made it even worse.

_"It's just the evil witch inside you, mommy. Maria knows it's not really you."_

But Maria had been wrong.

Rosa really _was_ that horrible. It wasn't an 'evil witch' at all.

Her fingers were stained with Beatrice's blood.

Her mouth was filled with the taste of Battler's tongue.

W-what had she done...?

"R-Rosa, it's okay," said Battler hastily. He reached across the table to pat her on the shoulder, but-

"D-don't touch me!"

Rosa moved away from Battler's hand in fear, as though his fingers were spiders' legs threatening to scuttle across her skin. Her chair screeched against the floor. It sounded like fingernails running down a blackboard, the nails breaking off from the fingers in a bloody mess.

Rosa's eyes were a little too wide, her breathing a little too labored, as her arms wrapped round her body- trying to physically keep herself together. She didn't want to fall to pieces; she was afraid her organs would seep out of her stomach.

Hurt flickered across Battler's face. It was enough to make Rosa flinch, guilt welling up inside her- b-but she hadn't done anything wrong...

_Her lips pressed against Battler's desperately, fingers curling around his, her heart thumping- she didn't want to be alone, she didn't want to be alone, but he was pulling away in fear and shock already. They always left her, they always left her, always always always..._

Rosa shuddered.

She was trying to _stop _herself from doing the wrong thing. She couldn't afford to ask for comfort. If she let Battler talk to her, his voice so soft and soothing- so comforting it washed over her like ocean waves breaking against the sandy shore with white foam- then she would lose herself; she'd become needy and wanting again, and she'd latch hold of Battler and fall apart if he let go.

She was always like that.

_Always._

That was why, when her boyfriends left her (they always left her- and she getting a little too old to have 'boyfriends' now anyway), she had to pick up the pieces of her broken heart each and every time. She got too attached; always so attached.

She still believed in loving, trusting relationships.

She was the only person who did.

"Rosa... don't look so scared," said Battler, after a short pause. "I... I'm not angry."

It took Rosa a few seconds to find her voice. When she finally did, her words were tinged with sarcasm; so cruelly incredulous she even made herself winced.

"You're 'not angry'? Ha! Well, thank goodness for that! I was worried you would look down on me, _Battler. _It's nice to know you- a _child_- think you can understand my problems. I feel so relieved."

"Rosa, I don't want to sound condescending," said Battler, his words filled with worry. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't want to do that at all..."

"Just remember that I'm an adult," said Rosa coldly. "I'm not like Maria. Don't treat me like her."

"I wasn't treating you like a child! I-I wasn't- I don't want to... to punish you for being _naughty_ or anything, I-I just... Shit." Battler's fingers fisted in his hair, his elbows banging against the table top. The sudden motion made the teacup rattle on its saucer. Battler's smile had slipped completely from his face, and he no longer looked light-hearted or cheery; instead, he looked desperate.

Rosa knew desperate.

She could relate to that pretty well.

"I know you have some problems," said Battler. He looked up at Rosa with his eyes filled with worry- so much worry if hurt. Rosa felt she could drown in his eyes. "I-I just wanted to help you... I wanted to talk about it."

"So you can feel better about yourself by laughing at me?"

Rosa tried to remain aloof, but it was so difficult- especially when Battler looked at her like _that_. She just wanted to break down and cry. How could she sit there having a normal conversation with him when, only a day before (it felt like a day; but, then again, she couldn't be sure) she'd forced herself upon him and _kissed_ him? Battler had looked so revolted about it, too. This Battler, however...

Didn't.

He looked understanding.

Caring.

Sympathetic.

It made Rosa feel like a child, and she wasn't sure whether she liked having his sympathy or not. However, at the same time, it was also comforting. Nobody ever looked at her like that save Maria- and (on very, very rare occasions) Rudolf, when Eva was being particularly vindictive. Battler may have insulted Rudolf at every chance he got, but his father wasn't all bad- and Rosa could see a little of Rudolf's charming features in Battler's own face. They were more alike than Battler would've cared to admit.

Much like how Maria was far more similar to Rosa than it first appeared.

Rosa had harbored big dreams and complex fantasies when she was a young girl, too.

And maybe she still did.

Maybe, if somebody could make her believe... then she could hold her hopes back to her heart again and truly smile.

B-but, at the same time, Rosa was hesitant to take Battler's outstretched hand, and she was afraid of his smiles; absolutely _terrified _of his compassion. Most people in this world were only nice to suit their own gains, as Rosa had soon learnt when she grew hips and her breasts became more prominent. Battler wasn't like that, not at all, but if gave kindness to Rosa she might, selfishly, try to take more and more and more until she'd sucked him dry.

Just like last time.

_Exactly _like last time.

"I'm not trying to make myself feel better by laughing at you," said Battler, a hint of desperation in his voice. He sounded sincere enough- but perhaps that made it worse. "I-I... I never realized how you felt before. I guess I didn't really see you as a person- just as, you know, an annoying adult. But I think I'm more grown up than that now, and... And I wanted to apologize."

"A-apologize...?" asked Rosa, her voice soft. "For what?"

There were many people in the world who had hurt Rosa, some more than others, but they'd all left marks on her in some way or another. Battler was not one of them. If anything, she'd tried to take advantage of him; a rare position of power for the meek, demure Rosa- the youngest of her siblings.

It always came back to being the youngest.

"For running away from you last time," said Battler simply. He smiled nervously, tentatively- but it was still a smile. "I didn't know the things then I know now, but... b-but it was wrong of me. I know you wouldn't act like that if there weren't... mitigating factors. H-haha, I sound like a judge." Battler laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair again. "I'm not trying to judge you. I-I'm just saying... I'm sorry. I should have tried to be more helpful, instead of running. Running from problems doesn't solve anything. It wasn't a very adult thing to do."

Rosa winced as Battler's words pieced through her, sharp as kitchen knives.

Running from problems didn't solve things- not at all. He was right. Rosa had been running from the ghosts of her past for twenty years, trying to wipe all memory of Beatrice with her smashed-in skull from her mind.

But it hadn't worked.

It had only made her feel worse and worse, until all that guilt built up inside her like a snowdrift and consumed her whole. She'd never told anybody, but she had returned to the place where Beatrice's corpse lay- or, to be more precise, had laid. Somebody had cleared it away. Probably one of the servants (it couldn't have washed away in the tide; surely not. Something would have been left behind, like a shoe or her beautiful red rose hairclip). However, nobody had mentioned the incident to Rosa, and Rosa had never told anybody else, either. She assumed Beatrice was Kinzo's secret mistress. However, contemplating that was... horrible. Beatrice may have had the body of a fully grown woman, but hiding behind her carefully-placed mask of superiority and pride there had been a confused, lonely young girl (even more of a child than Rosa) who hadn't even known what a zoo was.

Beatrice had been a captive princess, hidden in her ivory tower and wrought iron cage from all but Kinzo. And secrets had to remain secrets- even from the rest of the Ushiromiyas.

When Rosa finally told her cousins the full truth, it had been like opening the lid of an old, dusty box- but she hadn't been able to stop there. The memories of Beatrice brought back her old feelings of shame and guilt and despair, and that mixed with her feelings about men and Maria and _everything else _that had gone wrong in her stupendously fucked up life, to the point where she'd clung desperately to the only glimmer of hope she could find.

That glimmer of hope had been Ushiromiya Battler.

And still, despite what she'd done, he was still here.

He was still willing to talk to her.

He...

He _cared_.

M-maybe being cared about wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"I-I..." Rosa bit her lip, hoping the initial pain would freeze her tear ducts, so she could sit and have civilized discussion without bursting into tears. "I... don't want to be so selfish as to heap all of my burdens upon you. T-the last time we tried to talk, I... I..." Rosa bowed her head in shame. "Forgive me. I-I'm so sorry."

"Nah. It's fine."

Rosa was taken off-guard by Battler's light-hearted, dismissive tone; so much so she lifted her head up in surprise, her eyes meeting Battler's.

Battler was smiling.

"To be honest, I'm flattered such a sexy woman would take an interest in little old me~ I mean, you're really pretty, Rosa! Ihihi!~"

Rosa flushed, the ability of human speech completely evacuating her brain in under five seconds. "I-I, um... I... Y-you sound a lot like your father when you talk like that."

"Eh?" Battler tilted his head to one side, frowning slightly. "I do _not _sound like that old bastard."

"You do." Rosa smiled. "You must have taken your silver-tongued 'lady-killing' skills from him; you're using exactly the same lines! Just don't start slicking your hair back too, okay? Just between you and me, I think it makes Rudolf look like a shady car salesman. Or a con artist."

Battler began to laugh, even though Rosa's voice sounded tired and worn out. After a short pause Rosa began giggling too, her fingers splayed across her lips in a typical lady-like fashion (rules of etiquette had been drilled into her head since birth. She could even tell apart a soup spoon apart from a desert spoon, and she knew how to tip her bowl of soup away from her whilst eating).

It was amazing how, in the space of a few moments, the tense atmosphere between the pair had dissipated. I-it was almost as if Rosa had never...

She shuddered, the laughter dying on her lips.

Bad memories.

Those were very, very bad memories.

The taste of Battler was strong on her tongue; almost burning.

Battler's eyes softened as he looked at Rosa, his smile becoming something more soothing instead of cheerful. "Rosa...? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you," said Rosa, almost on auto-pilot. She was so used to burying her feelings lying seemed like a natural response. It felt as if there _was_ no other way to respond. "I-it's just..." She sighed. "I don't want to... rely on you too much. You're still so young, Battler, and I... M-my problems might be too large for you to carry. It would be _wrong _of me to expect you to carry them at all."

"I don't mind," said Battler, still smiling. "A trouble shared is a trouble halved, yes?"

"I..." Rosa's eyes darted round nervously, fluttering about like the wings of the golden butterflies that hovered in the blue, blue sky. The sky was the same color as Battler's eyes. "I don't know..."

"It's alright. I know about Beatrice."

Rosa _stared_ at Battler- really _stared_, as though he'd just admitted he could fly to the moon. She blinked furiously, white spots bursting behind her vision, as though trying to dispel something from her eye.

When she spoke, her voice was fragmented. "Y-you do?"

Battler nodded. "I do. I know. So... you can tell me." He smiled. "I won't judge you. Just... let all your feelings out. I can't promise I'll make anything better, but I'll try. Trying is good enough, right?~ Ihihi~"

Rosa pressed a hand against her frantically hammering heart, trying to calm her pulse. It felt like her heart was trying to claw its way out of her throat, falling from her mouth and into her cup of tea. That would have been incredibly bad etiquette; her mother would surely have scolded her for doing such an unladylike thing.

The idea was, quite frankly, so ridiculous Rosa couldn't help but smile- ever so slightly.

Then...

She nodded.

"A-alright. I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."

And then the words started flowing.

It was a confession more than anything.

A confession for her past sins.


	7. o7

**Irony****  
><strong>Chapter Seven

* * *

><p>When Rosa finished speaking her body felt strange; almost light. It was as if a great weight had lifted from her shoulders- thorns and barbed wire had been removed out of her heart; but the process had been so slow and gentle she hardly noticed. For perhaps the first time in her life, she felt...<p>

At peace.

Completely and utterly at peace.

Never before had Rosa carved open her skull and laid the contents bare for all to see. Even when she'd spoken of Beatrice with the rest of her relatives, she had been careful to skip round her emotions- talking only of the factual events, rather than her feelings (they wouldn't have been interested in her feelings anyway), as though Beatrice's death were something she'd read in a book.

It hadn't made her feel better when she'd spoken about it to her cousins.

It had made her feel worse.

But this time it was different.

Maybe because Battler was different.

When Rosa spoke to Battler she hadn't been speaking in an objective, removed way. Instead, she'd been reliving the events in her head with crystal clarity; hearing the _thump thump thump _of her heartbeat mingled with the _zaa_ of the ocean waves and the sound of her footsteps as she carefully climbed down that cliff to discover Beatrice's broken body once more.

Her hands were stained with blood.

She was a murderer.

At murderer at only age fourteen.

Ha. And she called _Eva_ the cruel, heartless witch- but Eva had never killed anybody.

At least, not her adult self. The young girl who looked curiously like Eva with the penchant for evil laughter and drowning people in desserts might have had a few names on 'how many people I've killed' list, but not the Eva Rosa knew.

When Rosa spoke to Battler, the words falling from her mouth like a downpour (so quickly she couldn't stop them even if she wanted to- and she wasn't sure she did), Battler had been looking at her all the while. His eyes (so blue, just like the sky and sea; just like Beatrice's) had been soft and warm and _understanding_, and for once Rosa truly believed she wasn't being judged.

She was talking and Battler was listening.

And maybe...

Maybe merely having somebody there, sat before you, with a kind smile and comforting eyes, was all you really needed in life.

Rosa didn't just talk about Beatrice. She spoke of her fairytale dreams, shattered when Beatrice's skull caved in from blunt force trauma, and she spoke of how her cousins had bullied her, how she'd never been good enough to be an Ushiromiya, how she tried to retreat into fantasy worlds- but when Beatrice died so did her ability to escape to happier places. She spoke of her boyfriends, all of whom left her, and she spoke about Maria, her jealousy, her love and- above all- her guilt.

It all came down to guilt in the end.

Everything she touched withered and died.

Beatrice.

Maria.

And even Battler- because the previous time he'd extended his hand to her Rosa had, in her despair, tried to take too much from him. She hadn't wanted to be alone; she couldn't be alone; she'd fall apart if he left her...

And so- another part in the 'Ushiromiya Rosa Sabotages Her Own Life' series- Rosa had tried to drive Battler away herself.

She wasn't sure whether she'd kissed him out of some twisted desire to further their connection, or whether it spawned from her deeply-rooted beliefs that she didn't deserve to have any happiness at all (she was a _murderer_). Maybe she'd been trying to protect herself from getting betrayed, or maybe she'd been trying to protect Battler from _her_. Maybe she'd been trying to drive Battler away.

She didn't know.

She couldn't tell anymore.

Maybe both these reasons existed at the same time, just like a cat shut up in a box; but nobody would ever know the truth. Least of all Rosa.

If only feelings were as straightforward as fair play murder mysteries.

As Rosa spoke, she became aware of a warm pressure falling against her hand. She looked up, confused, breaking off her narrative for a few moments, to find Battler smiling at her. Their fingers were entwined.

He wasn't going to run away.

That gave Rosa the strength to continue.

With each word she spoke, it felt like she was shedding some small part of her twenty years' worth of grief and guilt; stripping away all the misery that had corrupted her so until she was that little girl with pigtails stood on the beach again.

She had never confessed her sins like this before- and how could she have ever hoped to wash them away if nobody could forgive her? But Battler would. Rosa could see the forgiveness in his eyes. There was so much of it she could almost imagine (she'd always had a big imagination) it dripping down his cheeks in imitation tears.

"I-I know... I know it's not my place to judge you," said Battler quietly, his fingers tightening just a little round Rosa's. "That would be wrong of me. B-but... But I think you should know it's not your fault. What happened to Beatrice... isn't your fault."

Rosa's eyes widened. She let out a small gasp, like a child who had just been told how far away the stars were.

"R-really?"

Battler nodded, smiling. "Really. I think that Beatrice was locked up; being held a prisoner. And... ha." He laughed. "The Beato _I _know would never stand for being held captive. She'd get pretty pissed off about it."

"Y-you knew Beatrice?"

"I know _a_ Beatrice," said Battler. "I'm not sure whether they're the same person- but... Well, it's complicated."

"Everything about this family is."

"That's true~ Ihihihi~ But..." Battler stared intently into Rosa's eyes; willing her to understand. His look was so serious it made Rosa shiver. "But the Beato I know would hate being locked up. You set her free. Even if was only for a few moments. And it wasn't like you pushed her, was it?"

"N-no."

"You didn't take her to the beach hoping she'd die, did you?" Battler pressed, his words becoming more and more earnest with every passing moment.

"No!" said Rosa, shaking her head, her hands clasping at her front. "No, I-I would never do that... I never wanted that to happen!"

"Well then. It's not your fault. It was an accident."

Rosa looked down at the tabletop dubiously. The stark expanse of blinding white stared up at her; burning.

"But I was the one who took her to those cliffs in the first place. I-I should've known it was stupid; she was wearing such a heavy dress, of course she wouldn't be bale to walk properly in that... I-I wasn't paying attention, I-"

"You didn't mean to kill her. You were trying to help. And that's all that matters."

"I-it's... It's not that simple."

"Oh?" Battler raised a brow. "Why can't it be?"

Rosa frowned, blinking slowly in confusion.

"Why can't it be that simple?" Battler repeated, each and every syllable he spoke digging into Rosa's heart with precision. "Do you _want _to make it more complicated? Do you _want _to be a murderer? …I can't see the logic behind that, to be honest- but in detective dramas when the female killers confess to their crimes they always become sexier when they're evil, so…? Ihihi, I don't know~ Just trying to lighten the mood."

Rosa winced. Her fingers tightened round Battler's; seeking comfort without realizing she wanted it.

"I-It can't be that simple because I... I killed her!" The words forced themselves out of Rosa's throat, grating skin of twenty years' worth of pain and hurt and confusion and guilt burst from her mouth. "Y-you can't just pass murder off as an 'accident', it's a real human life, i-it's... It should mean _more _than that, it-"

"Rosa!"

Rosa's eyes widened as, all of a sudden, she felt arms wrap round her shoulders. She was pulled forwards- and she expected her body to collide with the table that sat between her and Battler, but... it was no longer there. The table shimmered for a few seconds, before dissolving in a burst of golden butterflies. Rosa, lost amidst the brightly colored sea of butterflies, fell to the floor, Battler's arms round her, as he embraced her so tightly it felt like he really would never let go.

When Battler next spoke, it was into Rosa's hair; his head resting on her shoulder, whilst trails of gold flickered round him like drops of rain.

"Rosa, it wasn't your fault. I-I promise. I know it wasn't. Don't blame yourself for something like this! Nobody would like to be locked up their whole life- you did the right thing. I'm sure you did the right thing!"

Rosa gave a small, muffled squeak.

She could hear Battler's heartbeat. It was in time with hers.

That…

Was a comfort.

It was probably more comforting than it should've been.

Then, her eyelids flickering shut, she pulled her arms round Battler's waist with as much force as he held her, and buried her face in the hollow between his head and shoulders.

Her whole body was shaking.

When she next spoke, her voice was soft; barely a whisper.

"T-thank you..."

"For what?" asked Battler, his own voice just as quiet. "For telling the truth?"

"N-no... F-for _being._ Y-you turned into quite the fine young man, didn't you?~"

"Aww~ Don't make me blush, Rosa."

"Hehe~ I'm sorry; I couldn't resist. It's fun making your face go red."

Rosa laughed quietly. Her laughter trembled just as much as her body- but, for the first time, she felt... truly happy.

Safe.

Battler's arms were so warm.

Whenever Maria was upset she would turn to Rosa for comfort, but Rosa had been alone her whole life. She'd never had anybody who could pick her up when she'd fallen down, or hold her close and tell her everything would be alright.

This was the first time anybody had ever held her so lovingly, so tenderly.

She felt just like a small child again; holding onto a happiness she'd never truly known, living in such a cruel and unforgiving world.

But Battler had forgiven her.

And...

And that was enough.

When Rosa opened her eyes she noticed something odd about her surroundings. The wax crayon gardens she'd doodled from age seven were shifting about her, shimmering. It was as though she were staring at them from underneath a pool of water and the ripples kept distorting her vision. Everything was changing; the red roses blurring into one another, and the white arbor under which she sat melting- droplets of white running to the floor like chalk in the rain or paint dribbling down a canvas.

The universe was reforming itself slowly; becoming something much more mundane and something far more familiar.

There were no golden butterflies here.

It was the beach.

The beach with jagged rocks (it'd be dangerous if you slipped and fell; you'd soon spill your organs out, your insides becoming your outsides and your clothes dyeing red), which Rosa had been looking back on ever since she met Beatrice.

She was back where it all began.

"W-what...?"

When Rosa drew away from Battler slowly, she noticed something.

She was far shorter than Battler was; by about a head or so. Her fingers went to her clothes, tugging at them; a school girl skirt and that familiar red ribbon that looped under her shirt collar. She moved to her hair next- and, with surprise, noticed it was tied back in those two girlish pigtails again.

She was a small girl once more; only fourteen.

Even younger than Battler.

"What's happening?" Rosa asked, her voice trembling, as she tugged at her plaid skirt with self-conscious worry.

Battler only smiled, ruffling her hair. "I think you look pretty sweet like this~ You look an awful lot like Maria, you know."

Rosa's face flushed. "I-I-"

"It's okay. Come here."

Battler reached forwards. Gently, he brushed Rosa's bangs away from her face, and pressed a light kiss against her forehead.

"You're not going to be alone anymore," said Battler, his voice quiet. "I'll try to find a way and help you. I promise."

Battler couldn't help but feel he'd made a similar promise before, but this vague sensation of d_éjà_ vu was washed away with the tide as- incredibly- a smile quirked the corners of Rosa's lips.

It was small.

Barely there.

But it was still a smile.

In the real world, a single broken smile from one broken girl didn't mean anything; it changed nothing. But it was completely sincere, every inch of it genuine- and Battler knew, without knowing how he knew, that this was the beginning.

The beginning of a long recovery.

Leading, perhaps...

To a happier Rosa.

A Rosa who could touch people without feeling tainted; a Rosa who could still dream about fairytales and true love; a Rosa who could hold Maria without any lingering jealousy.

A Rosa who could be truly happy.

* * *

><p>The taunting, mocking voice inside Rosa's head that sounded so much like Eva was beginning to disappear, piece by piece- until she'd faded into the background altogether. Her words were drowned out by the beating of Rosa's heartbeat and the steady <em>zaaa<em> of the waves as they lapped the shore.

_"I knew you could beat the evil witch, mommy. I know that's not the real you."_

* * *

><p><em>It's alright, Rosa...<em>

_Don't cry._

_I'm not angry or sad, or even upset._

_You set me free._

_I leant to fly because of you._

_So don't worry..._

_I don't blame you._

_I never have._


	8. epilogue

**Irony**

Epilogue

* * *

><p>Beatrice the Golden Witch sat on her white chair, surveying the scene before her with a small, barely there smile on her face. Battler had his arms circled round the younger Rosa's body, holding her close, whilst he tried to soothe the pain in her heart that had plagued her for so long.<p>

Perhaps Rosa could be happy.

After twenty years of piled-up guilt, eating away at her insides like sulfuric acid, Rosa deserved a few shred of happiness to flitter through her miserable life now and again. It was a wonder she'd managed to drag her feet, one after the other, from day to day at all, given how weighed down she was with problems.

In a sense, Rosa reminded Beatrice a lot of herself. She was another lost, lonely girl; a girl who'd entertained large, lofty dreams, which were inevitably snatched out from her clasped hands by a cruel world that refused to let people hope for a better life.

Rosa had dreamed of a prince charming rescuing her, too.

And maybe she'd found him.

"This was an unusually kind thing for you to do, Beato," said Virgilia, looking at her pupil with fondness in her half-lidded eyes. "It appears you've finally grown up."

Beatrice nodded. "I suppose so. Or maybe... Heh." She smiled. "Maybe I was just feeling a bit of whimsy. That's all."

"Beato..."

"Battler can't love me," said Beatrice, her voice quiet. Her fingers grasped handfuls of heavy dress, rolling the thick material under her palms. It was just something to occupy her; if she didn't move, she felt she would start to shudder.

"He... He's my opponent. He can't. E-even though I... well..." Beatrice sighed, breaking off hastily. Thinking about that was painful, and it'd been _all_ she had to think about for the past thousand years. Other than tea, of course. You couldn't fault Ronove's delicious tea. Tea didn't try to make you do things you didn't want to do, and tea didn't call you a heartless monster, and tea didn't rip out your heart and grind it under the dirt. Tea was, Beatrice decided, the _real _love of her life- and the tea couldn't do anything about it, so there).

Beatrice continued, her voice strangely hollow and empty. It was alright, though. Battler wasn't there; he was with Rosa. Beatrice didn't need to act anymore.

"B-but I thought... I should at least let somebody else have a sliver of happiness in this world. Even if that person isn't me."

Rosa had needed help; that much was obvious. However, how could you ever hope to 'help' somebody if they didn't tell you they were in trouble? It was impossible. Rosa, being a member of the Ushiromiya family, was far too proud to reach out and ask.

Because she never asked, nobody could take her hand and save her.

So, instead, Beatrice had asked Battler for help in lieu of Rosa. She had deliberately shown Battler several tragic scenarios revolving that woman so Battler could realize she was falling apart (she had been for a long, long time) and she needed somebody to take her hand and pull her out of the water.

Beatrice had to break Rosa down to gain Battler's attention- but in this world, you had to be cruel to be kind.

...Beatrice was sick of being cruel.

It wasn't nearly as much fun as people said it was. Even the elaborate murders got boring after a while.

Beatrice tipped her head back against her chair. Her mind was filled with so many thoughts and feelings it felt heavy; her slender neck could hardly support it anymore. Beatrice let her eyelids flicker shut; stark black against pale, porcelain cheeks.

"He won't be able to keep that promise, though. Ushiromiya Rosa is going to die," said Beatrice- using the red truth off-handedly for the last sentence, even though Battler wasn't there to witness it.

Beatrice sighed.

She was so tired of this; so very, very tired.

Why had she given Rosa and Battler a small fragment of happiness if she intended to shatter it herself only moments later?

Battler would soon learn of her and Virgilia's scheme, and then Battler would hate her more than ever. That was what she wanted though, wasn't it...? She wanted Battler to hate her, so when it came to their final confrontation (it was getting so close; Beatrice new it was getting close) he would tear into her with his own blue truth from all sides until she couldn't fight back with red anymore. The only red that would run from Beatrice and the end of their battle would be her own blood, staining her dress and her hair and her milky white skin.

Death was the only way Beatrice could escape the shackle Lady Lambdadelta had placed round her foot.

It was the only way she could escape this game board.

It was only way she could escape Battler.

And all the feelings inside her heart...

The feelings that had been eating away at her insides like termites for years upon years, with no hope for rest- no rest for the wicked (or those pretending to be wicked)- and no hope of salvation.

Beatrice had known Battler would never return her feelings when he looked at her with hatred so acute it could have burned a hole in her face.

There was no 'love' there.

Beatrice frowned.

Battler was making more promises to Rosa; promises he couldn't keep. Hadn't he learnt his lesson last time? You didn't say things like that to people. Human beings were foolish; they could build their whole lives around promises.

When those promises crumbled away, so did their fragile hopes.

But Battler had completely forgotten the 'last time'.

He didn't even realize there was one.

It must have been nice being so stupid. Battler was the one who'd oh-so-casually thrown promises around, and yet Beatrice was the one who had to suffer for this, whilst Battler himself completely forgot he'd done anything wrong.

He'd murdered her.

It was the type of murder where 'people' don't die, but still- he'd murdered that girl with the white hair (she couldn't hold onto feelings like that; her heart was too weak, her body too delicate).

And now Battler was going to murder Beatrice, too.

But that was... okay.

For now.

Because- if only for a few moments, in a single fragment (a single universe)- Ushiromiya Rosa, that girl who liked to daydream and skip around arguments with dainty footfalls, had found forgiveness. In a cruel world that tried so desperately to tear compassion from human beings like people pulled weeds from their garden, maybe having hope (even for a few seconds) was enough.

The other Beatrice had felt it as she tumbled through the air- flying on invisible butterfly wings.

Hope was enough.

It had to be enough.

Otherwise, Beatrice would have abandoned her dreams Battler would- one day- apologize to _her_ just as he was apologizing to Rosa. If Beatrice hadn't held onto hope, she wouldn't have engaged Battler in this game to begin with. She would have drowned herself like Ophelia, until the blood froze in her veins and her body turned cold and dead.

Battler might have been her enemy, but Beatrice loved him.

She didn't want to lose him.

And that was why she wanted him to hate her.

That was why she'd offered him a few glimmering moments of hope- only so she could snatch them back and shatter them between her fingertips.

That was why Beatrice wanted Battler to kill _her_ instead.

She would rather die than be killed.

She hated Ushiromiya Battler.

And yet, at the same time...

She loved him, too.

And that was the biggest irony of all.

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>an:** I worked on this story for about a week, editing and changing things until it was all complete and shiny and pretty. It was originally going to be a threeshot, but...  
>Yeah.<br>As you can see, it spiraled out of control just a little XD  
>I spent so long working on this I no longer know if it's any good or not ;A;<br>I also pondered whether I should squish it all up as a huge oneshot at the end or leave it in chapters, but I decided it would be best to chapter it cause it's easier working through quick chapters than a really long oneshot XD

With this fic, originally it was a bunch of angst like my usual stuff, but then I decided to try something a little different so I tried to add some rather black humor into it at places- even despite the rather depressing nature of this fic. I also debated whether I should label this as Rosa/Bahhttler cause it's not, not really… but oh well.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed it ^_^

**~renahhchen xoxo**


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